As Dawn Follows Dusk
by the ramblin rose
Summary: Dixonne, Cyreese, AU/ZA. Just as every day must give way to night, every life must give way to death. However, just as the dawn comes up on a new day, the future belongs to those who still live. This is a Dixonne "and family" story in the future beyond Long Way 'Round. Many characters present, including OCs.
1. IntroductionAuthor's Note

To everyone who is considering reading,

This work needs some introduction and explanation, so I'll be providing it here. I apologize for the length, but I believe in letting readers know what they're getting into so that they can make the best decisions for themselves. I hope that you will choose to read the story, but I understand if you do not. I am anticipating somewhere in the neighborhood of one to four people who might be interested. (Haha, it's funny, but it's true.) Still, I'm offering some explanation.

Originally the "Dixonne" saga that I was writing was going to have four parts. The first part was What Future Is There? The second and third parts were intended to be written at any time, or even simultaneously, since one didn't really rely on the other. One would be Long Way 'Round and the other would be a (as yet untitled) prequel of sorts that would chronicle life on the road between Georgia and the Highland Settlement. The fourth part was going to be As Dawn Follows Dusk which would see the group at the point where the children have officially taken over as the leaders of the group since they are, essentially, no longer children and our past heroes and heroines have reached the twilight years of their lives.

If I were proceeding with the stories for publication, that is how they would be written. However, I'm not publishing the stories. At least, not in the traditional sense. I suppose that one could argue that publishing them as fanfiction on websites is publication, but it's not the traditional format where they're all released at once. Instead, all the stories are episodic.

As a result, I've decided to do something that is, perhaps, a little unorthodox.

As anyone who has followed the story knows, I write Long Way 'Round for my own pleasure and enjoyment. I am greatly pleased that some people enjoy the story. I am grateful to those who read it, and I am especially grateful to those who let me know that they read it and enjoy it. But, ultimately, I write it because I enjoy it. It is, essentially, a story of life. It's not meant to have a necessarily epic beginning or end. It's simply meant to be the story of the lives of people that, hopefully, readers have come to care about. Think about the episodes like watching a television series. As viewers we always know there might (OK, probably will) be an end, but we're not focused on how things end. We're focused on the journey that we're taking and where that journey takes us.

Because of that, I'm not ready to end Long Way 'Round, and I don't know when I'll be ready to end it. I'll know when the time comes, but now is not that time.

Still, I wanted to be able to offer those who are dedicated to this group, another way to enjoy the characters. A parallel story of sorts. That is what I'm offering here. The world is different. The characters are different, even if most of the faces are familiar. The POVs will include those of characters that we've known forever and some new ones—including but not limited to those we've only known as children.

This story, like Long Way 'Round, is meant to be a story of life and the experiences of our characters, and is meant to (hopefully) entertain. As such, I'll be adding to it when I'm able to slip into that world and provide you more of the story of these people as I see it.

Because the two stories are parallel, however, I must stress that this one is not to be seen as true sequel. To know the characters and the world built here, it will be extremely helpful to be aware of what's happened up to this point in Long Way 'Round. However, this story is something of a parallel universe to that one. People may be alive or dead in this story that do not have the same fate in Long Way 'Round. There may be events that take place in Long Way 'Round that are not part of the world built here. There will be some differences between the two universes.

Therefore, suspension of disbelief and the enjoyment of the stories as two separate entities (with some common ground) is requested and appreciated.

I'm sorry to make you read something so long, but I want you to know what you're reading so that you're prepared to decide if you want to continue or not. If you have questions, leave them in your reviews or message them to me and I'll do my best to answer them.

If you choose to read, then I appreciate your support and I welcome you along for the journey. If you choose not to read, I respect your decision and I wish you a good day. I hope that, if you're reading it, you'll continue to enjoy Long Way 'Round since I know it's something that I greatly enjoy!

Thank you for your time!

Rose


	2. Chapter 1

**AN: Here we are, the first chapter of this story.**

 **I own nothing from the Walking Dead.**

 **I do own all original characters and worlds.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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At the sound of Cricket's whinny, Hope waded out of the water as carefully as she could so as to not make any sound. At the bank, she stepped carefully out of the water and walked gently across the ground. She moved slowly enough, and with a light enough step, that it would be difficult for even the most dedicated of trackers to follow her. She knew it to be true because she'd learned from the best. She moved gently enough that it would be almost impossible for anyone to hear her. Her steps were almost undetectable to even the most sensitive animals. She knew that to be true because she hunted them on foot.

Around her, the world was beginning to say that it was growing late. The birds in the sky were changing. The morning birds were giving way to the evening ones that would, before too very long, give way to the their winged friends who owned the night. The sky, itself, was beginning to trade in its blue hue for a brighter pink color that would, later, bleed into a purple before it gave way to black and closed its eyes on the day forever.

In the distance, fires were burning. Their dark smoke was rising up and marking the location of the Central Hold of the Highland Settlement.

The smoke marked home for Hope. And, in its own way, the smoke was calling Hope home.

Hope looked around her. She listened carefully to what was happening around her. She heard only the slightest ruffle of leaves and then she heard nothing more. It was probably only a rabbit that hopped past. Perhaps there were several of them and the same sound was what had startled Cricket before.

Hope walked over to where Cricket, her paint mare, was tearing grass loose from the ground with her teeth. From the bags draped across the horse's otherwise bare back, Hope took the garments that she'd cast off for her swim. Cricket stayed still, not moving beyond her chewing, while Hope laid the clothes across her.

The new skirt and top were freshly made from hides that had been prepared only a few months before. Hope remembered the kill. She remembered the feast that had followed. The needlework on the clothing had been done by hand and with a great deal of care by her aunt. But Hope wasn't fond of the idea of wearing the new clothes. They were new and stiff. Hope had never cared for things that were new and stiff. She preferred the old and the worn—the tried and the true.

Change was, so often, unnecessary and uncomfortable.

Hope had been given neither time nor opportunity to wear the new garments into the softness that they would eventually take on. They were prepared for today—for a very special day—and therefore it was important that they be clean and neat. Hope's mother seemed to doubt her ability to keep the garments both clean and neat when given too much time to wear them.

Hope fastened the skirt around her waist and tugged at it. At least she had been able to talk her mother and her aunt out of the traditional dress for a day such as today. The dresses they would be wearing, no doubt, would be even stiffer than the hides. They wove the cotton themselves for the dresses and, though they grew quite comfortable with age, the earliest days of wearing them could be almost unbearable to Hope. It always amazed her that something so soft and comfortable could find its beginning in something so rough and unforgiving.

Hope lifted the top of her outfit and wished, for a moment, that she'd stayed at the Settlement if for no other reason than to have someone to fasten the leather strings for her.

Hope dropped the garment, though, when Cricket whinnied again and threw her head back.

Whoever was close might think that they'd catch Hope by surprise, but by the time she turned her body—a fraction of a moment passing by—she was already in possession of one of the blades that she'd guarded in Cricket's bags.

"Ositsu?" Hope asked, being sure to keep her voice calm with the question.

"Osiyo," came the response.

Hope lowered her blade and reached to retrieve the dropped garment from the ground. She shook it off as she picked it up and hoped that the Earth wouldn't stain it.

"Show yourself," Hope said. "You have seen me."

There came laughter from the small wooded area where Hope had originally thought a rabbit—or a family of them—might be residing. Following after the sound she produced, Lotus emerged from the wooded area and walked directly toward Hope. In the custom of her people, Lotus wasn't forced into the stiff garments that Hope was being forced into wearing.

"Ositsu, Hope?" Lotus asked.

"Osiyo," Hope responded.

"Forgive me if I say your voice doesn't match your greeting," Lotus said.

"I can't tie the bindings," Hope said, holding up the top that she'd been avoiding wearing since she'd crossed the protected border between the Highland Settlement and the Borderlands.

Lotus walked toward her, hand outstretched, and took the garment. She waved at Hope to turn and she quickly dropped it over her so that it would hang correctly. To assist her, Hope caught the hide with her fingers and held it into place while Lotus knotted the strings that would have kept Hope at work for a while.

"It's been some time since I've seen any of your people out this far," Lotus said. "I didn't expect to see you, either. You're far from home."

"It's a short distance on Cricket," Hope said.

"I hear tell she's still one of the fastest horses around," Lotus said. "There, I believe that will serve you."

Hope turned around and showed herself to Lotus for judgement. Lotus smiled and nodded approvingly at the garments that Hope was wearing—even if she'd never have worn them herself. The Keepers only wore cloaks of animal hide, and those were only worn in the winter when the cold was unbearable without cover.

Hope had seen, though she couldn't recall them all, approximately sixteen of those winters—at least that was as far as anyone had kept count. The story went, though, that she'd spent probably three winters before that in another land that was far from her home in the Highland Settlement. It was a land that she couldn't recall, but she'd heard stories about it that led her to believe it was a kingdom all of its own glory.

"They aren't soft yet," Hope said, speaking about the garments that her aunt had made her. "Mama said that I'd ruin them if I was given half the chance."

Lotus laughed.

"And right she was," Lotus said. "More than likely. I see the feast fires are burning. There's to be a wedding tonight in the Settlement. The Mother and a few Sisters are already moving toward the Settlement."

"Are you going?" Hope asked.

"I was," Lotus said. "Until I saw Cricket."

She gestured with her head toward the horse that, all danger out of the way, had returned to munching the grass that held a great deal of interest to her.

"Judith's to be married tonight," Hope said.

Lotus nodded her head.

"A great union for the Settlement," Lotus said.

"The same as any union, I guess," Hope responded, shrugging her shoulders. "Marriage is marriage. It's always the same."

"You still haven't answered my question," Lotus said.

Hope raised her eyebrows at the young woman.

"You still haven't asked it, neither," Hope responded.

"There was once a time when I didn't have to," Lotus responded. "You would have known. But—perhaps it has been too long since you last came to the Borderlands."

"I came last at the bony moon," Hope said. "And it is not yet the flower moon."

"So you must have," Lotus said. "Perhaps it has been too long since I have come to greet an old friend."

Lotus was older than Hope, but not by any great number of years. She was born a Keeper, raised a Keeper, and she would die a Keeper. That was how the Keepers lived. Few of them ever left their Sisters, or the far-stretching care of their Mother, but most of them wandered great distances throughout their lives to know the other sisters that they were bound to by heart but had never met.

Lotus was taller than Hope by a few inches. She was lighter than Hope, too. Hope was, as her father called her, "sturdy stock". She was strong and active, but she ate well. Lotus was wispy and thin and seemed almost like she would rock with the breeze if it were to blow too hard. Lotus's hair was a rusty gold and her eyes were the color of the slippery moss that formed on the rocks at the bottom of the creek bed. Her skin was pink and spotted and, just as it was at this moment, peeled in places where the sun had burned her. By contrast, Hope's skin had an even complexion of tawny brown and her eyes were the same yellow as the leaves in the late fall.

When they were young and just coming of age as young women, Lotus had been one of Hope's closest friends. But when Lotus had left the Borderlands to travel and to meet her unknown Sisters, the distance had separated them in more ways than one.

"I didn't even know you come back," Hope said.

Lotus shook her head.

"It's only been since the full moon that I've returned," Lotus said. "I haven't yet made it to the Highland Settlement. But I'm going now. For the marriage."

"And I should be going too," Hope said. "Or else Mama's going to start to worry where I am. So what question is it that you got for me?"

Lotus nodded her head gently.

"My question is simply why it is that you've wandered so far from home on this day," Lotus said. "The marriage of your heart-sister is a great occasion. I would think that you would fear missing it."

Hope shrugged her shoulders again.

"Maybe Cricket just wanted to run," Hope said.

Lotus smiled at her.

"Maybe it isn't Cricket," Lotus responded, "who felt the need to run."

Hope shrugged her shoulders once more and pretended that she didn't understand Lotus. She dismissed her comment, and then she dismissed the young woman. Hope walked around Lotus, instead of wrapping her arms around her in a hug as she normally would, and made her way to the mare that would wait all day for her if that's what she asked of her. Hope arranged the leather bags that hung over the mare's back by a strap and quickly and easily mounted the horse before she gathered up her mane between her fingers.

"Like you said," Hope said, "it's a big day. So I best be heading back. If you want, I'll give you a ride. Otherwise? You're in for quite the walk."

"We Keepers make servants of no beast," Lotus said. "The afternoon is nice. The evening will be nicer. Judging by the smoke from the feast fires, there will celebration waiting for me whenever I should arrive. I shall walk."

"Suit yourself," Hope said. "But if I'm not there soon? And I make Mama get to worrying too much? I'm liable to be on one of them fires." Hope laughed to herself. "All spinning around like a stuck pig. I'll see you there, if you make it."

"I'll make it," Lotus said. "Have no concern."

"Stiyu," Hope said, nodding her head at Lotus.

"Stiyu," Lotus repeated.

Hope tapped Cricket's side with her heel and let the horse know that she was ready to go. She walked her gently away from Lotus and started back toward the Highland Settlement at a slow pace. As soon as she was clear from any of the branches and debris that littered the ground from where the trees grew, and had reached the clearing, Hope gave the command to Cricket to pick up her pace.

And Cricket was well known for picking up her pace.

Hope leaned into the horse and held her legs tight around the mare's body as Cricket covered ground fast enough that she seemed to be flying. She'd gotten her name from Beau, when she was young, because she could make it from one end of the training paddock to the other so fast that it appeared that she'd simply "jumped" from one spot to the other.

Hope watched the landscape around her pass at a dizzying speed, and she didn't even have time to offer greetings to those who were keeping watch at the border as they scattered to get out of the mare's path when she thundered by them without paying them any regard whatsoever.

Hope had pushed her arrival to the wedding until the last minute. And, perhaps, anyone else would be late. But Hope would merely arrive in time to make an entrance as she rushed Cricket through the gates, no doubt, to set about calming her mother's concerns—something she'd had a great deal of practice in doing.

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 **AN: A little insight into vocabulary. More will be explained about it in the future.**

 **"Ositsu?" - Cherokee. This can be a statement ("It is well") or a question (Is it well?). It is a common question to ask as a greeting. It has been an adopted greeting of the Highland Settlement and their allies.**

 **"Osiyo" – Cherokee. "Hello" (especially to someone held in esteem). It is the positive response to the above question.**

 **"Stiyu" – Cherokee. There's no exact way to say goodbye in the Cherokee language since "goodbye" is seen as too final. "Stiyu" is a common way of taking leave of someone. It roughly means "be strong". Another "goodbye" is "Donadagohvi" which means, roughly, until we meet again.**

 **These, and other vocabulary that will appear throughout, come from a variety of online sources that are available to the public. They have been gathered through research and, therefore, are subject to being less than 100% accurate.**


	3. Chapter 2

**AN: Here we are, another chapter.**

 **A few questions/concerns/and comments addressed at the foot of the chapter.**

 **I hope that you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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"I checked her barn," Daryl said. "Cricket's gone. Ain't nothin' but she's run off again."

He bit the inside of his cheek so that he didn't laugh at Michonne's facial expression. She didn't have to say anything. Her face said it all. But she wasn't going to spare him hearing her, either.

"I know she's run off, Daryl," Michonne said. "If someone had come in here and taken her then we'd have all known about it."

"I'm sayin' she's got the sense to leave when damn near everybody's asleep? She's got the sense to know when to get the hell back here. She's comin', don't you worry about it," Daryl said.

"She's too young to go running off alone," Michonne responded.

This wasn't the first time that they'd had this discussion. Not by a long shot. It wouldn't be the last, either. The day of Judith's wedding might have given them a reason to refresh the discussion, but it certainly didn't put it on the table for the very first time.

The worst part of the discussion was that they'd switched sides so many times that it felt like they were doing some kind of elaborate dance with one another. Sometimes Daryl switches sides so often that he forgot which side he was on at any given moment.

"Hope ain't been too young for much since she was sword fighting straw dummies," Daryl responded. "Besides—you know as good as I do that today's the day we confirm her as fit to be courted for marriage. We can't say she's fully growed in one breath an' say she ain't in the other."

"Who's going to tell Judith that Hope isn't coming to celebrate her wedding?" Michonne asked, crossing her arms tight across her chest.

Daryl shook his head gently.

"Nobody," Daryl said. "We ain't gonna have to. She'll make it."

Daryl had been assured, more than once, that mothers and daughters had been this way since the dawn of time. Like the pull that the moon had on the Earth, they went back and forth with each other. They were, all at the same time, the best of friends and the worst of enemies. It was, so he'd been told, a tale as old as time. But it still tore his nerves up every now and again.

And on top of everything else, Daryl was trying his best to pretend that he believed Michonne's concerns about Hope were related, even in the slightest, to the fact that the girl had taken her horse and let herself out of the gates. He almost wished that he could believe that she was worried that Hope couldn't hold her own out there and that she might have run into trouble. But that wasn't the case and he knew it. Hope was more than capable of taking care of herself. The land around them—as far as Hope could manage to go in a day in almost any direction—was protected land. The Highland Settlement had expanded to be large enough that Daryl hadn't seen the full extent of the land that it swallowed up since they'd left Georgia. He predicted, by now, that their farthest borders might even _include_ Georgia. By now? Someone who considered themselves a citizen of the Highland Settlement might even be living in the very house where Zeb had drawn his first breaths. All along the borders of the Highland Settlement, as well, there ran the Borderlands who were held by their longtime allies the Keepers. The Mountains, simply named for their geographical design, were held by the Mountain Folk who were bound in love and loyalty to the Highland Settlement. And to the north, where the winters were the stuff of legends, the Snowbirds had their hold. And though the Snowbirds were sometimes problematic, for the most part they remained at peace with the Highland Settlement because they relied on their trade agreement for survival. There were still people who wished, every now and again, to do them some harm, but none were really strong enough to stand the rain of fury that fell on them when they tried.

Hope was safe no matter where she was.

But Michonne knew that as well as Daryl did, and she wasn't truly concerned about the safety of their daughter. She was bothered by her acting out. She was bothered because Hope was growing to a point where they couldn't control her. They hadn't controlled her in some time. And, sometimes, there was a storm when two forces as strong as Michonne and Hope came together.

"Jude is going to be heartbroken if Hope doesn't make it," Michonne said, looking like it was she who was getting particularly close to that emotion. "She's going to be crushed that Hope isn't here to support her. It's an important day for her!"

"And it's still gonna be an important day," Daryl assured Michonne.

Daryl put his hands on Michonne's shoulders and gently tugged her a little closer to the barns that were nearest them to get her farther out of the path of the people who were coming into the gates now and making their way toward the area where the wedding would be celebrated. He heard a few of them call his name and he nodded his head in the direction of the crowd and offered a quickly muttered "Siyo" that he hoped would persuade everyone to continue on without stopping to see what was taking place between him and Michonne. Out of the way of the people, Daryl didn't drop his hands from Michonne's shoulders. Instead, he kneaded her muscles and held her there at arm's length.

"It's still gonna be an important day, 'Chonne," Daryl said. "Jude made a choice. She accepted a proposal. This wedding's been in the planning for months. Her home's ready for her to go to today. She's gonna dance and drink and eat and she's gonna have a wedding that she's gonna remember forever. And then she's gonna go with her husband and she's gonna start some of the best and worst damn days of her life. Whether or not Hope shows up? It's still an important day for Jude."

"Hope should know that Judith wants her support," Michonne said.

"And Jude knows she's got that, whether or not Hope's here," Daryl said. "But Jude also knows that Hope is apt to run." He laughed to himself. "There just ain't no tyin' down what you can't hardy catch." Daryl set his face, hoping to convey the severity of his message to Michonne and break through the disappointment—since he figured that might very well be the emotion that its hold on her at the moment—that was enveloping his wife at that moment. "You walkin' up there lookin' like it's a burial, though, ain't gonna do Jude no good. Everybody's gonna be looking at you and you gotta look like you happy for her."

"I am happy for her," Michonne said.

"Then straighten up," Daryl said. "And let's get you up that hill. They ain't ready to start yet, but it won't be long and we don't want you creating some kind of domino effect with Carol worryin' where you are and Jude worryin' that ain't nobody important gonna show up. Come on—let's walk on up."

To show that his suggestion was more than suggestion, Daryl took Michonne's arm and started to tug her in the direction that people were moving. He didn't make it very far, though, wading them into the crowd, before the entire discussion was rendered null and void.

Daryl heard the shouts of a few people—clearly startled—and he turned back to see Hope riding in on Cricket. The horse was slowing to a walk, but Daryl knew better than to think that his daughter's approach to the settlement had been made in such a calm manner. He scolded her, sometimes, about running Cricket like she did. He worried that she'd work the horse into a lather that the mare couldn't recover from. But, so far, it seemed that both Cricket and Hope knew their limitations.

Michonne stopped walking, too, when she saw Hope and the people who continued on around them—all come to witness the marriage—stepped around Daryl and Michonne as they continued forward.

Hope left her horse with one of the stable hands who was managing the horses and she took to her feet, running with the same determination that the paint had probably used to get her there. She would have run right past Daryl and Michonne, too, if Michonne hadn't stepped out and blocked her progress so that she slid to a stop to keep from barreling to the ground with her mother.

"Where have you been?!" Michonne barked, anger taking the place of the disappointment that had been on her features before.

Hope went wide-eyed. Her breathing was heavy from her exertions.

"I went out to the Borderlands," Hope said. "Went for a swim."

"You could swim closer to home," Michonne said. "You knew that you were expected to be here to get ready for the wedding."

"I'm here," Hope said. "And it don't look like I missed it. Out there I passed a whole band of Mountain Folk comin' in. The people comin' ain't even all got here yet." Hope smiled at Michonne. "And you ain't even there yet."

"The point is that you had no business running off this morning," Michonne said. "You had no business leaving the Settlement. You had no business even leaving our gates!"

"'Chonne?" Daryl said, putting his hand on his wife's shoulder. The other hand he put on his daughter's shoulder. Michonne looked at him and he shook his head at her. "Maybe it'd be better if we discussed this later? She's here and the wedding's gotta start soon."

Michonne stared at him while she considered what he said and clearly took a moment to let herself calm down. There was a transformation of her features as the self-forced calm descended over her. She nodded her head.

"You're right," Michonne said. "You're right. There's no use arguing about this now." Michonne looked at Hope. "You're back now and you'll make it to the wedding. Your clothes are dirty—and your hair is a mess—but at least you made it."

"If Hope's clothes weren't dirty an' her hair was done," Daryl offered, "Jude might not even know it was her."

Michonne closed her eyes to still herself. She nodded her head again.

"I didn't mean to get my clothes dirty," Hope said. "Honest. I was careful with 'em." As a demonstration of her dedication to keeping herself clean for the wedding, Hope brushed at the top she was wearing and tried to get some of the horsehair and sweat off with the palm of her hand.

"It don't matter," Daryl said. "Don't matter at all. This ain't a day that gets made by clothes and hair and—even bein' on time. We seen worse wedding disasters than a dirty dress. This day gets made by the wedding that's about to happen. The promise that's about to get made. And we gotta get up there now so it _can_ happen. Just the way Jude thinks it oughta."

Hope nodded her head and, apparently anxious to avoid the discussion, pulled loose from Daryl.

"I'll see y'all up there!" She barked, darting forward and sprinting through the crowd, apologizing as she went to those that she pushed to one side or the other.

"We're still going to talk about this!" Michonne yelled after her. Whether or not Hope heard her, it was difficult to tell. She didn't break her pace to give any indication.

Daryl laughed to himself and shook his head.

"Come on, 'Chonne," Daryl said, nudging Michonne to start her walking again.

"This is all your fault," Michonne said. Daryl caught the hint of a smile that was playing at the corners of her mouth.

Daryl laughed to himself.

"I know, 'Chonne," Daryl said. "It's all my fault. Every last bit of it. Hope's hair, her dress. The fact that she 'bout didn't get here on time. It's all my fault. You ain't had a thing to do with it since she was born."

Michonne hummed.

"Maybe I had something to do with it," Michonne said. "But—I'm letting you carry the blame for most of it."

"That's alright too," Daryl insisted. "My shoulders are wide enough to handle the load."

"I'd hoped she would be clean and put together for today," Michonne said. "Just once, Daryl."

"She's looks pretty," Daryl said. "Just like her Ma."

"You'd say that if I was covered in mud and feathers," Michonne said with a laugh.

Daryl snorted.

"And I'd still mean it, too," Daryl said. "If you were covered in mud and feathers, 'Chonne? I reckon you'd smell just about as good as she does right now, too."

Michonne groaned as her only response to Daryl's comment and Daryl laughed again. He moved his hand from her arm and dropped it to her back. In response, she stepped a little closer to him as they walked. He could see the change in her step. He could feel the change in the muscles of her back. All was right with the world again, and now it was time to see the woman who'd practically been a daughter to them declare her loyalty to the man that she'd chosen to call her own.

And then it would be time to make the hardest announcement that they'd made yet. It would be time to announce that their first natural-born daughter was a woman and was ready to accept the hand of whoever she deemed fit to take it.

It was time to tell everyone that their baby was grown and they were ready to let her go—even if they'd never truly be ready for such a thing.

The very thought of it made Daryl's chest clench tight and shortened his breath a little. He wasn't sure that he could make such an announcement on his own. Luckily for him, he could barely recall the last time that he'd had to truly do anything on his own.

He sucked in a breath around the tight feeling in his chest.

"Come on, 'Chonne," Daryl said. "I'll walk you to find Mark and Carol first. Then I'll go find Tyreese an' Rick. We don't want to keep everybody waiting."

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 **AN: There's been a question about the time line. Hope is approximately 20 (remember that they don't keep a close record of time). That sets this story as approximately 15 to 16 years in the future from where Long Way 'Round is currently.**

 **Within the story, and given the structure of their society, there *may* be characters who are slightly underage (17ish for example) who enter into serious relationships/marriages. Please note that I do *not* advocate for minors in these kinds of relationships. This is fiction and a great deal depends on the structure of their society where one is a lot more mature than they may be, for instance, in our current society.**

 **If you have any other questions about the structure of the story, please feel free to let me know. Below I've addressed a few concerns from guest reviewers because the site does not allow me to respond to them directly.**

 **To the Guest who hasn't read the other two stories - I hope that you enjoy this story. I imagine that knowing the other two stories would greatly enhance your reading of this one, but I also don't think it would be impossible to figure out what's going on here without having read them. If you need any help, or you need anything cleared up, please don't hesitate to ask. Of course, signing in and PMing me would be the easiest way for me to catch you quickly and easily up to speed if you should need it.**

 **To Guest "Alice" – I entirely understand if you're not interested in reading Long Way 'Round any longer. I can fully imagine that the story isn't for everyone. In fact, I am sure that it only interests a few people. I happen to be one of the people that it interests, though, so I continue to work on it because I enjoy it. At any time, though, that you find something not to your liking, it's always best to stop reading it. You can always simply imagine the story ending just as you'd like it to end. As for future plans for this ship and others, there are always things on my writing list for the future.**

 **To the "salty" Guest – I've deleted your review because your vulgarity is unnecessary. You can make decisions to read what you enjoy and leave what you don't enjoy. Clearly you don't enjoy me or my work and, therefore, you should avoid reading it. I'm concerned about what's going in your life that leads you to feel the need to be nasty to people that you don't know about things that you're not being forced to read, but I hope that all gets resolved there and you find some peace with yourself. To respond to the only part of what you said that could even remotely be seen as anything beyond a personal attack, this story isn't a fanfiction of a fanfiction. It's the continuation of a story set in the future. That's called a "sequel" by most people. The only difference between this and a true sequel is that I'm writing it before I've decided to finish the other story, so I'm allowing that there may be some discrepancies. For this reason, readers were warned of that ahead of time and are left to make the best decisions for themselves. You, too, should make the best decision for yourself, and it seems that decision might be to simply stop reading at this point.**


	4. Chapter 3

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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Daryl left Michonne with Mark outside of one of the little tents that had been set up and went to take his place with the other members of the Settlement who would form the "aisle" for the wedding. Michonne greeted Mark with a hug and kiss on the cheek, and put on the best smile she could to calm the nerves of the man.

"Sometimes it helps," Michonne said, "if you tell someone what you're worried about."

"Falling over my feet?" Mark said with a laugh. He shook his head. "Giving my speech at the reception? There isn't much that I haven't been worried about since I woke up this morning."

"Paul?" Michonne asked.

Mark laughed and shook his head.

"He's too excited to be nervous," Mark said.

"As he should be," Michonne said. "Today is the day of his wedding. And he's loved Judith for a long time. You've got nothing to worry about. One bad speech at a wedding isn't going to make or break a marriage. Besides—I've never known you to make a bad speech. I don't think that you'll start today."

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Mark asked, his expression quickly changing.

Michonne nodded her head.

"I'm sure that I need to," Michonne said. "It's important that I do it. For Paul—but for those who can't be here too. Do you have the flowers?"

"They're inside with Paul," Mark said. "I thought they'd wilt faster out here."

"Then we'll wait for the announcement," Michonne said. She offered Mark a smile. "And we'll get your son married in all the pomp and circumstance that such an occasion requires."

They didn't have to wait for long. Those ushering guests to find a spot to stand got everyone organized rather quickly. The late arrivals and stragglers would be asked to stand away from the crowd, so as to not disrupt the wedding, but all the members of the community that would come to witness the wedding were already in place. As was tradition at their weddings, there wasn't any music until the reception, so the ushers requested silence from the crowd and Michonne watched as, in the distance, Carl took his place at the front of the created aisle, the piece of paper on which his words were written clasped tightly between his fingers.

When Carl spoke, his voice carried well. Anyone, Michonne was sure, no matter how far back they'd been asked to stand would hear him.

"Osiyo," Carl said, loudly. In response to his statement, everyone echoed him. "We thank you for coming. Every union of hearts is an important union. Every marriage means the bringing together of two people who will navigate a sometimes unforgiving world with each other. Every vow given in the presence of loved ones is a public declaration that two people will live together, love together, and fight together until death divides them. After the wedding? We feast and we drink to the love of the happy couple and we wish—as we wish for everyone—that death allow them a long time together before their parting. Today's union is particularly special to me and my family. Those being joined together today and saying their vows to each other are particularly aware of the fact that—marriage doesn't always mean forever. And death will sometimes break apart the unions that we forge. Today? I welcome you all to witness the marriage between my blood-sister Judith and my heart-brother Paul—and to witness the joining of their families in, _yet another,_ familial bond. If the parents of the groom would deliver him forward?"

"That's us," Michonne said. She reached an arm out and squeezed Mark's shoulder. "You ready to go?" She didn't point out that he looked like he was swallowing back tears. He nodded his head.

"It's time," he said. He stepped into the tent and Michonne followed after him. "It's time," he repeated, once they were in the presence of the young man. Michonne took the flowers from the dressing table that someone had moved into the tent and she reached to take Paul's arm for the walk that they would take together.

"I look alright?" Paul asked.

Michonne smiled at him and nodded her head.

"Very handsome," Michonne promised. She sucked in a breath. "Your mother would be proud. Both of them."

Paul accepted Michonne's compliment and took the first steps to tug her and Mark forward. They left the tent and quickly but carefully made their way to the makeshift aisle that had been created for them. As they walked past Daryl, Michonne winked at him and she caught the smile that he offered her in return. Standing beside him, tightly pressed in among people, Michonne caught a glimpse of Hope. Somewhere in the crowd her other children were dispersed, but she couldn't find them at a glance. She didn't try to. They were there and she'd see them later when the celebration was underway. When Daryl smiled at her, Michonne didn't try to bite back her own smile in response. Weddings were a serious occasion, but they were a serious occasion where smiles and tears were equally welcomed.

At the end of the aisle, Michonne quickly placed a kiss on Paul's cheek and broke off from him, moving to the side where she would stand. Mark took Paul the rest of the way, both of them taking their position on the other side of Carl.

At close proximity, Carl looked a little nervous. Michonne thought the paper in his hands was shaking slightly. He'd been officiating the weddings at the Central Hold of the Highland Settlement since he'd taken over as the official leader, but public speaking didn't always get easier with practice.

"Paul, do you come here of your own free will to take the hand of Judith as it is offered to you?" Carl asked.

Paul nodded his head.

"I do," he said quickly. He tried to bite back his smile, but it didn't work. Michonne smiled to herself to see such excitement on the young man's features. Every wedding, to Michonne, was a beautiful wedding. She loved to see the look of love and excitement that everyone got as they anxiously entered into marriage with the person of their choosing.

"Then would the parents of the bride deliver her forward?" Carl called out.

It took a moment for them to come from their tent, just as it had taken Michonne, Mark, and Paul a moment to make the short trip. When they appeared at the aisle, though, Michonne smiled to herself. Carol led them in, carrying in her arms a bouquet that almost matched the one that Michonne had carried. Behind her, Rick and Tyreese came with Judith between them.

Smiles and tears were both welcome at weddings, and that was a good thing because most of the bridal party came wearing both. As they reached the end of the aisle, Carol leaned and kissed Judith quickly on the cheek. The young woman raised a hand and brushed it across her mother's cheek before Carol stepped away and came to stand beside Michonne. Rick offered a quick kiss on Judith's other cheek and she smiled at him before he stepped beside Mark. And, finally, Tyreese kissed her cheek as he took her hand and gently placed it in the outstretched and waiting hand that Paul offered. When the transfer was made, Tyreese quickly joined the other two men.

"Judith, do you come here of your own free will to offer your hand to Paul as he asks to take it?" Carl asked. Michonne didn't miss that his voice caught slightly.

"I do," Judith said. Her smile was nearly contagious. It would be hard to decide if she or Paul looked more pleased with the idea of their marriage.

"Marriage is a promise," Carl said. "It's a promise to love one another, respect one another, honor one another, and cherish one another through all the days that you are granted together, however long that should be. It is a promise to love no other, beyond the Atohuna bonds, as you have vowed to love one another. It is an expression of the desire for the joining of your souls, as well as your bodies. It is the union of your families in love for you both and respect for your marriage. We ask that it not be entered into lightly and only be done with the most sincere wish for your lifelong union. Do you, Paul, understand these vows and wish to make them to Judith today in front of your family and community?"

Paul smiled at Judith and then looked at Carl.

"I do," he said.

Carl nodded his head in acceptance of Paul's declaration.

"Let your wish be known," he said. He sucked in a breath. "Do you, Judith, understand these vows and wish to make them to Paul today in front of your family and community?" Carl asked, directing his attention to Judith.

Judith smiled at Paul and nodded her head. She looked at Carl.

"I absolutely do," she said.

Carl laughed to himself.

"Let your wish be known," he said. "And by the power invested in me by the citizens of the Highland Settlement, I now publicly declare your union and pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss to confirm your wishes that it be so," Carl said.

The two did kiss and everyone broke the solemn silence of the ceremony by clapping for them. A few, and Michonne believed Daryl to be among them, whooped loudly and laughter broke out that took a moment to draw back under control. Once there was relative silence—or at least enough that he could be heard—Carl spoke again.

"I ask everyone to join us for the feast. After everyone has had their fill to eat, we request that everyone join us for speeches honoring the new union and for dancing to celebrate the coming together of community," Carl said. "Please allow the passage of the new couple and their families—and follow them. They'll show you were to eat!"

Michonne slipped her arm through Carol's without saying anything. Her show wasn't over yet. It wouldn't be done until the speeches were given and the traditional family dances were through. Only when they moved to the community celebration would Michonne return to her role as just another member of the Highland Settlement. For the moment, she would remain in her role as the surrogate mother who carried the memory—in the physical form of a bouquet that she would at least be able to put down soon—of the mothers that Paul had lost along his journey in life.

Judith and Paul were the first to walk down the aisle, arm in arm, for the first time as husband and wife. Carol tugged at Michonne when it was their turn to follow and they walked together, arm in arm, behind the happy couple. A few steps behind them, Tyreese, Rick, and Mark would come.

They would all eat together—sharing a blanket—and then they would each give their speeches and take part in the dancing that would follow.

And then? The whole of the community would celebrate. It would be a celebration that would carry them into the wee hours of the morning. It would be a celebration from which they would all take the following day to recover. No work, beyond that which was necessary, was ever done following a wedding.

As Michonne walked, linked arm in arm with Carol, she thought about her speech. She tried to put it quickly together and work out what she might say. She'd meant to spend the morning preparing what she would say when it was her turn to stand before the gathered audience and speak. Upon finding Hope missing, though, Michonne had forgotten about the wedding speech entirely. She'd only been focused on where her daughter might have run to and what might have caused this particular decision to escape the Settlement. She'd been worried, too, about what they might say to Judith about Hope's absence. Even though Hope would only celebrate with Judith after the speeches were done, Michonne knew that Judith relished Hope's presence there as much as anyone's.

As well, it was tradition to announce after any union those who were being presented as old enough for courting and, eventually, their own marriages. Tonight, after the wedding speeches were made, Michonne and Daryl had decided to formally announce Hope's eligibility. It could be done at any time, of course, but it was Judith who had suggested that the wedding would be the perfect time for such an announcement—and for that, Michonne had been a little concerned about her daughter's running off the morning of the ceremony.

But now, thanks to Hope's disappearing act, Michonne was almost certain that she wasn't going to get a word in with her before the announcement. The crowd was large and Hope and Daryl both would be swallowed up by it until the meal was done. Michonne could only hope that her daughter, if she was having any reservations about the announcement, would speak to Daryl throughout the course of the meal—and they would let her know, before she got the attention of everyone there, whether or not there was to be an announcement at all. Otherwise, she assumed that they would go through with things as planned and she would wait, just as she'd promised she would, to discuss Hope's disappearance with her at another time.

But whether she spoke to her tonight, or whether she spoke to her in the morning, Michonne had the full intention of finding out why it was that Hope had run out. She wanted to hear it from Hope, even if she already had a feeling, in her gut, about what might have caused the girl to bolt like she had.


	5. Chapter 4

**AN: Here we go, another chapter here.**

 **I'd just like to take a moment and thank all of you who have been so supportive so far in this story. It means so much to me. I can't even put into words how much it means! Thank you!**

 **I hope that you enjoy the chapter! Let me know what you think!**

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"Everyone? Can I have your attention? Most of you know me, but some of you don't. I'm Rick Grimes. I'm Judith's blood-father," Rick said. A "whoop" or two echoed through the people gathered, most of them still finishing their food, and Rick laughed to himself. "It's tradition at weddings to keep the speeches short and the celebration night long. Because of that, we've always had no more than four speeches per couple. Tonight, though, we hoped you'd humor us and allow us to have five. I didn't really think it was fair to deny Judith's heart parents the opportunity to speak on the day that she passes out of their home—because, really, that's where she's spent the majority of her life."

"And your boy's the leader elect!" Daryl yelled out, cupping his hands around his mouth to make his voice carry over the crowd that was gathered there and the din that their chatter created. Rick smiled and nodded his head.

"And my son is the leader elect," Rick said. "So he knows better than to cut me off. I'll keep my speech short. Many of you don't know this but—I've had the honor in my life of serving as blood-father to Judith, but also as—as something to Paul. I don't really know what you'd call it, but I can remember a time when...when he liked to sleep between his mother and me and...he'd put his feet out, against my back, like he was trying to keep as much distance between the two of us as he could. Many years have passed since then and it seems like Paul is still trying to get between me and the women in my life."

Michonne laughed at Rick's joke, as did several others, and Rick didn't try to hold back his own amusement at the corny joke that he'd probably worked on for the better part of a few days. He reached for his glass and lifted it.

"I won't say more than this," Rick said. "Paul? I welcome you as my son. And—you better take care of her. And you better love her. She deserves that. She expects that. It's what she's been taught to expect. And—you better live up to her expectations."

There was a rumble of "hear, hear" that passed through the crowd and everyone tasted whatever of the available beverages they'd chosen for themselves. Michonne tasted her wine, but she barely let it touch her tongue since she knew that the night would be long and the wine wouldn't take long in going to her head—especially not if she was going to be dancing later.

As Rick moved away from the center spot in the front, allowing Tyreese to take his place, he offered the man a hug that Tyreese accepted and returned. Tyreese was smiling like he'd had too much wine before he even began his speech.

"Everyone knows me," Tyreese said. "But—if you don't? And you're part of the Center Hold? Take a look at the house you're living in. Chances are—I built it or, at least, I told someone how to do it. I—I've built a lot of houses around here. A lot of homes. At least that's what I hoped they'd be when I was putting up the walls and making sure the roofs didn't leak. The most important home that I've built, though, didn't start with a foundation and some boards. It started with—one woman and one little girl that—honestly, wasn't blood to either of us. Whether or not I had anything to do with making her life, though, that little girl has called me Daddy for so long that—I can't imagine being anything else. But now? Paul? It's your turn to build a home. And—in giving you Judith's hand today? I've given you the best foundation you could possibly start with. It's up to you to do the rest. Jude? Thank you—for making me Daddy again."

Tyreese lifted his glass, but it was clear that, suddenly, he was too overcome with his own emotions to drink from it. Instead, he simply lifted it and gave the symbolic gesture of drawing his toast to a close. When he traded places with Carol, he paused a moment for her to offer him some words that nobody else could hear, and Michonne wondered if Carol was going to be able to find her way through her speech at all. It took her a moment, once she got into position, to even attempt to address the crowd.

"I am supposed to speak for Judith's blood-mother," Carol said. "And for myself." She shook her head. "I thought—I thought about what I'd say and—and I realized that I can't speak for Lori. Nobody can. But—Jude? I can promise you that she'd be proud of the wonderful, sweet...amazing woman that you've become." Carol lifted her glass quickly, a sign that she either couldn't or wouldn't say more on behalf of Lori, and then she lowered the glass again. "And I don't even know—what I can really say. I'm proud of you. I'm proud of the woman you've become. Of the woman I know you will become. I know that you and Paul will be happy together. I hope that...you find the same love and happiness with each other that I've found with your Daddy. It's the greatest hope I can have for you in your marriage."

As soon as Carol had toasted and everyone had drank to her words, Mark got up from his spot to take her place and Michonne stood too, knowing that her time to speak was coming, even though she was no more prepared than she had been when she'd taken her seat at the table that had been placed there for them. She followed him, to stand near him, while Mark addressed the crowd to honor his son.

"Paul has never known his blood-parents," Mark said. "Often we look at it as a tragedy that children should grow up without their blood-family, but I hope that Paul isn't too saddened by this. At least, I hope that he doesn't feel that he's been too deprived because of it. I've certainly tried to give him everything that I could and I know that Paul—in his own way? Is one of the greatest examples I've ever seen of the old adage that it takes a village to raise a child. Maybe because of that, he's turned into a man who has a great deal to offer that village. In particular, he has a great deal to offer the woman that he's chosen to be his other half." Mark shook his head. "There isn't much I can say, to either of you, except—I've watched you both grow separately. I feel blessed that now? I can watch you both grow together."

Michonne tasted her wine in confirmation of Mark's toast and, before she knew it, she was standing in front of the crowd. Faces were staring back at her that were mostly familiar. Some were more familiar than others. All of them belonged, in some way or another, to the place that she called home.

Michonne laughed to herself and shook her head.

"You should have let me go first," she said, addressing the others who had already spoken. "Then everyone else's speeches would've sounded better by comparison." They laughed at her and she turned to address the crowd, locking her eyes on Judith and Paul as they watched her with wide smiles on both their faces. "I could speak for both of you," Michonne said. "Jude? I've been diapering your bottom since you were cutting teeth. Paul? I still remember the very first time that your Mama showed you to all of us—and I remember thinking 'now what are we going to do with that?'" Michonne was relieved when everyone laughed and she knew that her joke had been taken for just what it was intended to be—a joke. "I'm supposed to speak for your mother tonight. For both of them. But I can't speak for one because I never met her. And I can't speak for the other because—she never did like having anyone speak for her. So—I'll just say that—they would both be so proud of you. I know this because— _I'm_ so proud of you. We're _all_ so proud of you. And I know that you and Judith are going to go on to do even greater things for this community than you've already done. I can truly say—osiyo. It really—it really is well."

Michonne lifted her glass and she smiled to herself when she heard the chorus of "osiyo" that was offered in return for her toast. She tasted the wine, as she was supposed to do, and then she licked her lips to catch the little bit of the drink that tried to escape.

"It's time now for the introduction into courtship of all those who are ready to begin their journey toward finding the one that they wish to wed," Michonne said. Her heart picked up its speed in her chest. She felt it thundering against her ribcage like it wanted to escape. She had announced, years before, Adelae's readiness for courtship, but it had felt a great deal different. Still, part of being a mother, Michonne knew, was learning when to let go. "I would like to—I'd like to get started by asking my husband to come through the crowd and join me? If—you'd all let him pass? Daryl?"

Daryl raised his hand to let everyone know where he was since he'd become slightly swallowed up by the crowd. They slowly spread, making room for him, and he came forward with Hope's hand caught up in his. Zeb followed close on his heels and the three of them finally broke through and arrived at the front of the group where Michonne was standing. Michonne looked at Hope.

"Are you sure you're ready?" Michonne asked. "Because—we can wait as long as you want to. If you're never ready—that's up to you."

Hope shook her head.

"It's fine, Mama," Hope said. "It's time."

Michonne nodded and turned her head when Daryl cleared his throat rather loudly. He leaned toward her as though he would keep the conversation just between the two of them.

"Seems we got a lil' catch," Daryl said.

"A catch?" Michonne asked.

"Seems Hope ain't the only one we're announcin' tonight, 'Chonne," Daryl said. He gestured with his head toward Zeb. "This one told me—he's ready to start courtin'."

Michonne's stomach did a flip that almost made her regret the amount of food that she'd eaten. She looked at her son and he smiled at her—the same crooked smile that she was used to from his father. He nodded his head.

"If it's OK with you, Mama," he ventured.

Michonne opened her mouth, but she realized that there was nothing she could say. She couldn't protest his decision. It was his decision, and his alone, as to when he was ready to be announced for courting. He'd come of age at least a few years ago by the community standards, and the only reason that neither he nor Hope had been confirmed yet was because neither of them had wanted it. The choice was theirs.

Now, it seemed, they both wanted to be confirmed on the same night.

And Michonne couldn't hold them back.

She forced a smile, finding it oddly more difficult than she would have believed, and she nodded her head.

"Of course," she said. "Of course—if you're ready?"

Daryl laughed quietly and elbowed Zeb.

"See? I told ya she weren't gonna have no problem with it. You don't got no problem with it?"

Michonne licked her lips and shook her head.

"No," she said. "No—I don't have a problem with it. I just—we just need to not hold things up. There are others who are waiting."

Michonne glanced toward the crowd. In seeing that there was a private exchange taking place, a few people closest to them were pretending to be paying attention to other things, but they were all waiting for Michonne to say something. They were waiting for the proverbial show to get on the road. There was still much celebrating to be done.

"Everyone?" Michonne called out, letting them know that she was addressing them all again. "I—Michonne Dixon and..."

"And me," Daryl said. "Daryl Dixon."

"You want to?" Michonne asked him quietly. He shook his head at her and she saw his throat bob. She could see the strain on his features and the "something" that he was hiding right behind his eyes. Daryl was supporting the children—and he'd support them in anything—but it wasn't any easier for him than it was for Michonne. The only difference was, sometimes mothers had to be a little bit stronger than fathers. Michonne nodded her head at Daryl and addressed the crowd again, trying to adjust her smile so that it looked sincere and hid the fact that she was dealing with the ache of letting go. "We would like to announce the intention of courtship of our daughter, Hope Dixon, and our son, Zebulon Dixon. There are many, many suitable young men and women that might wish to court either of them. Or both of them. But we know that—they will choose that special person who...that special person who..."

Michonne realized her voice got stuck in her throat. As sure as if she'd swallowed food wrong, it was hung there. She couldn't force it out—and in trying to force it out, she feared she'd force out some other emotion that she wasn't willing to deal with at the moment and in such a public forum.

And at that moment, perhaps realizing that she needed him, Daryl found the strength that he couldn't find before.

"We know they'll pick the special person who make 'em feel just like we did when we—well, when we knowed we'd found just what we were looking for," Daryl said. He let out what was left of his breath like he'd been holding it for a while and then he sucked in fresh air. The announcement made—practically spit out—and it didn't seem so difficult, suddenly, for him to speak. He raised his hand. "Thank you for hearing our announcement. Enjoy—all the night's got to offer."

Daryl touched Michonne's elbow like he meant to take her back into the crowd with him and she shook her head.

"I've got to stay with the wedding party," Michonne said. "Until the dances start."

Daryl nodded at her.

"Fine," Daryl said. He winked at her. "I'll see you when the dancing starts, 'Chonne."

Quickly, Michonne stepped over to the side and offered each of her children a kiss on the cheek, even though both would say that they were too old for such things—especially in public. Then she went back to the table to make room for the others who had children to announce.

Michonne knew everyone who was introduced for courtship. She heard every one of their names called, but the sound was outside of her. It was distant to her, even though she was one of the people closest to where the announcements were being made. She watched as Isaac was announced. She watched as Lela chose to have herself introduced for courtship. She saw Jimmy and Calista come forward with Christelle, even. And with each announcement, she found herself watching the expressions of the parents as they spoke. All of them were smiling, but she understood what was behind the smiles and what made the smiles, perhaps, appear a little hollower than they normally would. She understood how they felt, because she felt the same way. Her children were growing up. More than that, they were grown. And now two of them were, officially, seeking lives of their own.

It was what she'd always wanted. It was what she'd dreamed of since the day that they were born. But that didn't mean that it made it any easier on her heart. Hearts, after all, could have a mind of their own.

Still, she put on the best face she could. Tonight there was a lot to be celebrated. She would drink and she would dance. Tonight was a night to live her happiness. There would be time for her to entertain her other emotions later when the whole of the Settlement and their guests weren't watching.

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 **AN: People have asked about an updated character list. I'll say that I don't have one at the moment. I don't have, either, even a fully updated one for Long Way 'Round yet. I'm sorry. I'll try to get both completed as soon as I can. As far as ages go, you can figure that all our characters are roughly 16 years older than they currently are in Long Way 'Round. That puts our "core group" of Dixonne and Cyreese coming in between mid-fifties and early sixties give or take.**

 **Again, I'll get a character list for this story done when I'm able to sit down and neatly sort all that out. For the time being, here's the last one I posted for LWR (not updated entirely) just to remind you of some characters in case you need it.**

 **As always, if you have any questions or anything that needs to be addressed, feel free to let me know.**

 **From Long Way 'Round:**

 **AN: Here's an updated "so far" list. Some loosely created characters (not fleshed out yet) have "skeletal characterizations" which only include basic ideas of their age/ gender, etc.**

 **Deceased characters have been removed from the list for simplification.**

 **This is just to catch everyone up to date. Some characters listed have only been mentioned.**

 **Group – The "Community"/ Highland Settlement**

 **Daryl – Canon character. Married to Michonne since the prison (post season 3). He's the unofficial "leader" of the group.**

 **Michonne – Canon character. Married to Daryl. Together they have one biological daughter, Hope (their oldest), and two sons, Zeb(ulon) and Liam. They are also raising Angie (true name unconfirmed/unknown) who was believed to be the granddaughter of Shari until Shari's death. Michonne's obviously, involved in almost everything that Daryl does and helps him "lead".**

 **Carol – Canon character. "Married" to Tyreese. Together they have one son, Isaac and one daughter, Cheyenne. Cheyenne's twin brother, Daniel, did not survive. They also raise Judith and consider her their daughter. They have "adopted" and are raising Jonathan. She's more or less the head of all things "domestic".**

 **Tyreese – Canon character. "Married" to Carol. He's Daryl's best friend and often the one responsible for heading up construction projects.**

 **Rick – Canon character. He's in a relationship with Sadie. He no longer attempts to take leadership positions, but he's working on getting involved again with the group after a short "break" following something of a mental breakdown.**

 **Carl – Canon character. He's Rick's son. He has requested, repeatedly, permission to marry Emma and is waiting for Libby and Beau to grant that permission.**

 **Glenn – Canon character. He's married to Maggie and tends to be the "run coordinator" of the group and is good with directions and finding anything they need.**

 **Maggie – Canon character. She's married to Glenn and suffered a difficult time after the loss of the rest of her family. She and Glenn are adoptive parents to two girls, Haralee (the oldest) and "Lela". They are expecting a baby.**

 **Beau – OC. He joined the group when they found him living alone in the woods. He's in a relationship with Libby.**

 **Libby – OC. She joined the group when Daryl found her alone with her sister and two nephews. She's in a relationship with Beau and together they raise her nephew Sam. Her sister, Emma, is also still in their care. They have also "adopted" Gray that they acquired during the "breeder" incident.**

 **Sadie – OC. She's Deaf. She joined the group after an accident during an encounter with Daryl. She's in a relationship with Rick. She has an adoptive son, Paul, who she believes to be the biological child of her brother.**

 **Mark – OC. He came in with Sadie. They've travelled together through several different groups. He was a volunteer EMT and offers some medical assistance to the group. He co-parents Paul.**

 **Lisette – OC. She joined the group after encountering their community in Georgia. She's in a relationship with Malachi. Her daughter, Calista, is also a member of the community.**

 **Calista – OC. She's the daughter of Lisette and married to Jimmy. They have a daughter, Christelle.**

 **Jimmy and Junior – OCs. Michonne jokingly refers to the boys as "the twins". They came in together and have travelled together since the beginning of the outbreak. Jimmy is married to Calista.**

 **Alice – OC. Surgeon. She's in a relationship with Melodye. They came in together with a small group.**

 **Melodye – OC. Psychiatrist. She's in a relationship with Alice.**

 **Malachi – OC. He's in a relationship with Lisette. He's a retired police officer.**

 **Dick - OC. Michonne mostly refers to him as "Richard" since it's his given name. He has taken his time "blending" into the community, but is a valued "handyman" at this point.**

 **Brent – OC. He's something of a braniac, even if his group members suggest that he might not be physically set to survive this world.**

 **Angie – OC. 8-10 years old. Age unconfirmed. Name unconfirmed. Origin unconfirmed. She came with the new group as Shari's granddaughter. She was sheltered and kept, mostly, away from the other members of the group. Upon Shari's death, she became the "adopted" daughter of Daryl and Michonne, though much of her life remains a mystery at this point.**

 **Dub – OC. One of the "leader" figures of the large "new group" that joins with our group. He's in a relationship with Edna.**

 **Burns – OC. One of the "leader" figures of the large "new group". His real name is John, but he's referred to as Burns because of previous confusion in groups.**

 **Edna – OC. One of the women who was in charge of "domestic" things in the "new group" and is in a relationship with Dub.**

 **Lora – OC. Part of the new group. Her most immediately obvious trait is that she has a large scar on her face.**

 **Jodi – OC. She came in with the new group. She gave her son, Jonathan, up for "adoption" to Tyreese and Carol.**

 **Malik – OC. Young male in his mid to late twenties. He came with the new group but was once with another group. He has some knowledge about the city and has offered his assistance to the group in planning their run there. He has made friends with Beau and Carl.**

 **Ana – OC. She is in her mid-twenties. She came with the new group. Her brother, José is also present. She's anxious to become a contributing member in the community and fears being asked to leave. She's considered friendly, if not a little overly-friendly.**

 **José – OC. He's Ana's brother. He's in his late twenties. Like his sister, he came with the new group and is willing to do whatever is required of him to remain in the community.**

 **Tami – OC. Early thirties. She came with the new group and made friends with Maggie and Glenn relatively easily upon her arrival.**

 **Ronnie – OC. He's in his late forties. He lost his right arm in a wood chopping accident.**

 **Edmund – OC. Came with the new group. Late forties.**

 **Sydney – OC. Female, mid-thirties, came with the new group.**

 **Luke – OC. Early twenties. He came with the new group.**

 **Cecelia/Ceci – Late forties. She came with the new group.**

 **Grady – Late thirties. He came with the new group.**

 **Group – The Keepers, also known as the "Sisterhood"– Residence: The Borderlands**

 **The Keepers reside in the Borderlands outside of the city. The group is large (numbering into the hundreds) and is comprised entirely of women who live together. They do not allow males to reside with them. "Sister Earth" is the woman that is responsible for the establishment of the sisterhood, though the numbers are far too large at this point for her to be considered as anything other than a "Founding-Mother". She denies that she is in any way superior to the other "sisters" as their whole creed is based on equality, loyalty, respect, love and acceptance. There is no room for superiority. The women in this group vary in every way possible and often choose "names" for themselves that are entirely unrelated to their "old-world" personas. They are allies to "The Community".**

 **Group – Other/Outside**

 **Abraham Ford – Canon character. Recently introduced.**

 **Rosita Espinosa – Canon character. Recently introduced.**

 **Eugene Porter – Canon character. Recently introduced.**


	6. Chapter 5

**AN: Here we go, another chapter here.**

 **Just to let you know, you'll find out a lot about characters as time goes on. Things about them will be revealed as we go. As a reminder, though, to those reading Long Way 'Round, some of these things might be "spoilers," but others will take place in this realm without taking place in the other because of the still-ongoing development of Long Way 'Round.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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The traditional wedding dances were very important to the matrimonial celebrations that took place in the Highland Settlement.

Tradition was very important.

 _Repetition. Expectation. Fulfillment. Ceremony. Etiquette. Proper behavior. Tradition. Tradition. Tradition was at the core of everything._

When Daryl began his career as leader-elect of the Highland Settlement, they'd been a people in chaos. They'd been people who were stumbling about, all trying to find where they belonged and _how_ they belonged. They'd been trying to force everyone together like puzzle pieces with edges that didn't match. And then, it had occurred to them that the way to make the pieces fit was to make the edges fit. And the way to make the edges fit, was to establish common ground.

Since the coming together of so many people made it difficult to find common ground in their pasts, Daryl had the idea—and a very good idea it had been—to do away with those pasts entirely. "Your" culture and "my" culture were gone. Instead, what rose up in their place was "our" culture. Our shared culture. It was a blending of "mine" and "yours" and "his" and "hers".

In the culture and traditions of the Highland Settlement, the people found unity with one another. Their pasts didn't matter. For those of them that remembered the Old World, where they'd come from and how they'd gotten there were great fodder for campfire stories and fairy tales for the children, but what mattered most—and what brought them together—was their shared culture. Their shared understanding of how things worked, and the proof through repetition that things did, in fact, work that way, brought them together.

In the beginning, and Michonne remembered well the early days of drafting a "culture" for her people, they'd made up the laws and practices the same way children might go constantly changing the rules of a game. They added things here and amended things there. At this point, however, the traditions had been in practice so long that Michonne had almost forgotten that they were ever the creations of the minds of herself and others.

Weddings were a time of great celebration in the Highland Settlement. There was always a feast and enough to drink for everyone to celebrate all night. There were always those who volunteered to stay up all night and make sure the fires were out. There were those who volunteered to make sure that everyone made it home safely so that those who didn't want to celebrate all night could rest easy and without worry. To further the spirit of celebration, work was suspended the next day to allow everyone to rest.

And there were dances. There was always a good deal of dancing—and absolutely nobody left until the traditional dances were through. To leave before they were done would be considered one of the rudest things that someone could do, so nobody ever even thought of such a thing.

The first dance that always followed a wedding was the traditional "parents'" dance. During this dance, the parents—or those standing for the parents—took to the designated area to "show" the young couple what it meant to dance together. Symbolically it was the teaching of "how to love" to the young couple. It was a demonstration of what it meant to truly dedicate your life to your chosen partner.

At Judith and Paul's wedding, Michonne had to admit that Tyreese and Carol were the only couple dancing in the traditional dance that were suited for teaching Judith and Paul anything. Michonne danced with Mark, but they danced as friends—truly as Paul's parents would have danced. Rick danced with Mary Anne, but their relationship was budding at best. It was only Tyreese and Carol who had danced to represent the strength of a relationship that had stood the test of time and the strain of a life lived together in their world. But, Michonne thought, they more than made up for what the rest of them lacked and they danced beautifully together—enough so that Michonne was sure that most of the guests who were looking on hadn't noticed the lack of long-standing love between the other two couples present. As the dance drew to a close, William—who was playing and coordinating the music for the evening along with some of his comrades—announced that it was time for the new couple to take their place among those already dancing. Symbolically, it was time for them to begin the dance that would be representative of their relationship.

When that was drawn to a close, they moved to a dance that was actually Michonne's favorite of their traditional dances—and it was one that they dusted off for all celebrations, no matter how grand or how small. They called it, simply enough, the dance of Unity. Everyone was invited to join—from the youngest would-be dancers to the oldest—and they formed two large circles. William—in this case—"called" the dance and gave simple instructions that everyone followed. In something akin to what had once been known as a square dance, the dancers followed William's instructions.

As time had gone on, and more and more people had taken up the entertaining job of "calling" the dance, they had added more and more instructions. Some of the "calls" were silly and some were serious. The result was something that almost always ended in laughter, but also ended in the accidental "coupling" of people who wouldn't normally choose to dance together. You could not refuse the partners you ended up with throughout the dance, no matter who they might be. The dance had begun as a community building exercise, and it had blossomed into something that everyone enjoyed and looked forward to. They looked forward to it so much, in fact, that it wasn't uncommon for them to celebrate the changing moons, a good hunt, or a happy announcement with a dance following dinner.

When the dance of Unity was done, William and his comrades played simple songs for people to dance to and invited others to come up and entertain the crowd with songs of their own. The songs ranged from lively, funny songs to serious ballads—but they all entertained. And people, Michonne had learned, who wanted to dance would dance to anything.

When the circles from the dance of Unity dissolved, Michonne stepped out of hers. She abandoned the dance area and went straight for the tables where she could get something to drink. She chose wine, as she usually did at a celebration, but first she satiated her actual thirst with water. She was just moving on to sipping her wine when Daryl finally found her and pushed his way to her.

"Got swallowed up," he said, panting.

Michonne smiled at him and he returned the expression.

"You enjoyed the dance," Michonne said.

"Had a right good time," Daryl admitted.

He'd been one of the ones who had fought the dancing—insisting that he couldn't dance and that he'd just make a fool of himself. That had been in the beginning, though. That had been before they'd made it simply common knowledge that dancing brought happiness. It wasn't about the skill of the dancer, it was about the joy that they produced—joy, they claimed, that got dispersed among everyone gathered. Daryl might have what they would have called "two left feet" in the past, but he had a great deal of joy when the pressure was off of him to dance "well" by anyone's particular set of standards.

"I saw you caught Hope in the circle," Michonne said.

Daryl laughed to himself and nodded his head.

"She damn near killed me when William called to take 'em to town," Daryl declared. "Got a lot more energy than I do. At least at this hour."

Michonne hummed.

"I think it's safe to say that she's got a lot more energy than either of us do at any hour," Michonne said. "Did she seem OK? About the announcement?"

Daryl furrowed his brow at Michonne and nodded his head, half-shrugging his shoulders.

"Seemed fine to me," Daryl said. "Why wouldn't she be? Was her that called it. Said it was time."

"I know that," Michonne said. "Still—I can't shake the feeling that there's something going on with her."

"Wedding, probably," Daryl said. "All the preparation. Chaos. Prob'ly just got her stirred up. She's alright, 'Chonne. You see that. She's lookin' like she's doin' alright."

Daryl glanced back toward the area where many people were still dancing. Hope was dancing among them, though at the moment she'd chosen her brother, Liam, as her chosen dance partner. The song was a traditional folk song that Michonne knew simply as the Rattlesnake song. The lyrics were questionable, but it had an upbeat tempo that everyone enjoyed enough that it was played several times during most "dance" events to give some of the lesser-used instruments a chance to play. For their entertainment, those playing would often vary the tempo of the song to force the dancers to change with them.

And, for whatever reason, it had always been one of Hope's favorite songs to dance to as ridiculously as her body could handle. She moved, sometimes, almost like she was the rattlesnake in question, gyrating in ways that didn't fit the song nearly as much as they fit Hope's own personal way of interpreting its beat.

"I guess she's doing fine," Michonne said. She left out the "but, still..." that was gnawing at her. Tonight was a night for celebration and Hope was celebrating. Michonne wasn't going to be "that mother" that ruined her daughter's fun to try and get her to talk about things that, perhaps, she simply wasn't going to talk about until she was ready. Michonne sucked in a breath, watching two of her children dance together, and then she looked at Daryl again. "When did Zeb ask you about introducing him?"

"Sprung it on me," Daryl said, shaking his head. "While we was waitin' on the speeches to start he just comes up to me an' he's like—been thinkin' about it and I'm ready to be announced tonight. What was I gonna say?"

He looked at Michonne like he thought she might be angry about the announcement, and like she might hold it against him. She shook her head, hoping to calm his concerns before they had a chance to get started well.

"I'm not mad," Michonne said. "I was just surprised. I guess I thought—he'd take a few more years like Hope did. Like Jude."

Daryl laughed to himself and scratched at his chin where there was clear proof he hadn't shaved for the wedding—he hadn't shaved in a few days.

"Yeah, but Possum was gettin' introduced into courting tonight," Daryl said. "And if you don't think that didn't have something to do with it? Then I'd say you weren't thinkin' hard enough and that wine's done gone to your head."

"Competition?" Michonne asked.

Daryl smirked.

"Always," he said. "I didn't figure Hope would be ready to marry until Jude did. That didn't surprise me a bit. But I didn't think that Zeb would let Possum beat him. He ain't never let him beat him at nothing else."

"There's a first time for everything," Michonne said.

"Brings us to another problem we got," Daryl said.

"We've got problems?" Michonne asked.

"If we're breathin' we do," Daryl teased. "But you know good as I do that Possum's got eyes for Hope. There's a good chance he's gonna be askin' me for the right to court her."

Michonne nodded her head.

"Undoubtedly," Michonne said. "But how's that a problem? They've been kind of on-again, off-again sweethearts for as long as I can remember. Ever since..."

"Ever since I caught Hope tryin' to teach him how you was supposed to kiss," Daryl said with a snort. "But the problem is that house is plenty big enough for all of us, but I don't know if it's big enough for them courting. Don't know if he can be trusted to keep to his side."

"Isaac wouldn't do anything," Michonne said, shaking her head. Daryl gave her a look like he didn't believe her and she shook her head a little more adamantly. "He wouldn't!" Michonne insisted. "To do anything like that? It would be to shame himself and his parents."

"Like you think no young man's never done that?" Daryl asked. "That he wouldn't jump at the chance to have her just down the hall a piece?"

"Another young man might," Michonne said. "But not Isaac. I maintain that he's a perfect gentleman. And he's an honest young man. Painfully honest. Even if it hurts him, he can't sleep on a lie." She shook her head again. "Isaac won't do anything with Hope until they're married. I might not have a lot of faith in other things, but in that? Besides...Daryl? If they were going to..." She wagged her eyebrows at him and Daryl flinched a little in the dim light supplied to them by the burning torches around them. "I'm just saying that if they were going to do that? They'd have had plenty of opportunity before now. Isaac's a gentleman and he believes in waiting until he's married. He's _very_ traditional. I'm not worried about him in the slightest."

"So you gonna vouch for him?" Daryl asked. "For his integrity?"

Michonne laughed to herself.

"If you need someone to vouch for him? Yes, I'll vouch for him," Michonne said. "Hope's safe with Isaac. In every way that I can think of. I'm confident in that. Honestly? It'd be Hope that I'd bet would stir things up before Isaac would."

Daryl groaned in a joking manner and gave Michonne a look. Then, in the silence that fell over him, his expression changed a little. Daryl sucked in a breath and let it out in a deep sigh.

"Something wrong?" Michonne asked, prompted by the sound.

Daryl shook his head.

"Just—seems like a day or two ago and she was just getting borned," Daryl said. "Now we're about to have assholes lined up around the whole hill just waitin' for the chance to ask for the right to court her. And there ain't no telling what they'll be up to with her."

Michonne laughed.

"They'll be courting," Michonne said. "Tale as old as time, right? We all did it."

"That's what the hell I'm worried about," Daryl said. "I remember a little too damn well how the hell _we all_ did it."

"They have to grow up," Michonne said. "And—we have to let them. It's what we wanted."

"I just figured it'd take a little longer," Daryl said.

"She's twenty," Michonne said. "Give or take. She's close to it. Zeb's—seventeen? Eighteen? They might even be older. How long did you think they were going to wait before they started dating, exactly?"

Daryl hummed and shrugged his shoulders, still looking in the direction of the dancers, like he was trying to figure out an honest answer to a real puzzle.

"Thirty? Forty years?" Daryl asked.

Michonne shook her head, but she didn't argue with him. His expression made it clear that he was teasing—at least he was mostly teasing.

Michonne jumped when she felt someone clasp her arm. She turned quickly in the direction of whoever had approached her from behind, but she relaxed as soon as she saw it was Carol and she was hanging on Tyreese's arm. Her eyes were shining. It was clear that she'd shed more than a few tears that night, but it was also clear that she'd replenished any lost fluids with more than enough wine.

"We're going to bed," Carol said, all smiles for the occasion.

"It's early," Michonne said. "People will be up all night."

"Young people," Tyreese said. "People who don't wake up tired after they sleep all night." He laughed and patted Carol's hand where it hung on his arm. "We said goodnight to everyone who'll miss us and we've done our duty. Jude's—in good hands. We already sent Yoka and Eli down to the house. And we already talked to Adelae and Haralee and they said they're staying up to see to it that the fires are out and everyone gets home. They'll make sure everyone else gets home to rest."

Michonne nodded her head.

"They'll see to it," Michonne said. "But you should stay up a little longer."

"We've got to make sure Eli and Yoka sleep," Carol insisted. "And we need to sleep too."

Daryl laughed.

"Don't pretend your asses is goin' down there to sleep," Daryl said. "Not like we don't know you."

Tyreese grinned at Daryl.

"Weddings are for celebrating love," Tyreese said. "And, of course, we have to honor tradition." Carol elbowed him, but it was clear that she wasn't truly offended by his teasing. "But don't think that we're not going down there to sleep. I have all ideas that by the time you two make it down there? We'll have been asleep for hours."

"Go on then," Daryl said. "We don't need you no way. I got a second wind anyway."

Quickly, Carol and Tyreese bid Michonne and Daryl goodnight and started down the hill to the main part of the Central Hold so that they could walk in the direction of the over-sized and oddly shaped cabin that they called home—most of which had been remodeled and reconstructed by Tyreese many times over the years. Michonne shook her head at Daryl, but she didn't try to hide her amusement at his teasing of Carol and Tyreese.

"You know they ain't goin' to sleep," Daryl said.

"I know that," Michonne said. "They know that. And everyone else knows that. But they want to pretend they're going down there to sleep, so I let them pretend."

"I'm not pretending we're going to sleep later," Daryl said. "At least—not right away."

"That's fine too," Michonne said. "But don't think we're staying out here all night first. If you do? You're writing checks that you can't cash, Daryl Dixon."

He smirked at her.

"Don't'cha worry 'bout me, 'Chonne," he said. "Finish your wine. Let's get a little dancing in before we leave the night to the newlyweds and them that still think it's an accomplishment to see the sun rise when they ain't closed their eyes yet."

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 **AN: "Rattlesnake" is a traditional song of the United States. There's a traditional rendition of it by Spider John Koerner that you can find online if you're interested in hearing the song that's mentioned in the chapter.**


	7. Chapter 6

**AN: Here we go, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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Hope had been awake for a while, but she'd been lying as still as she possibly could so that she wouldn't disturb Cheyenne. She had presented the invitation to Cheyenne to share her bed as something nice that she was doing for Cheyenne, but really it had been Hope's own selfish desires that had brought her cousin to her bed.

Cheyenne had hated to sleep alone for her entire life. She had a rag doll of sorts that her mother had made out of a pillow and she'd slept with "Patty" since she was at least five years old and her parents had separated her from sleeping with her brother, Jonathan. Hope remembered it because the separation had come with the addition of a great deal of new space in the house and Cheyenne, finding herself without her brother for company, had kept the entire household awake for almost a week. In desperation to finally sleep again, Carol had come up with the idea of creating Patty to keep Cheyenne company.

At the moment, Patty was wedged against Hope's body because Cheyenne refused to part with her even in the presence of a living bed partner.

Hope's motivation for inviting Cheyenne and her patchwork friend to her bed had little to do with Cheyenne, however, and much to do with Hope. Hope, too, was unaccustomed to sleeping alone. When she searched her memory, she couldn't find a place in it when she hadn't slept next to Judith. At least, not for anything longer than a night or two.

And now Judith was sleeping in a cabin near the eastern back corner of the Central Hold with her husband.

Most of the house was asleep. Most of them hadn't gotten home until the sky had begun to shift its colors to the grey of the coming morning. But not everyone was asleep. For some time, Hope had heard the sounds of her mother and Carol in the living room. Their voices were low and hushed—hisses dotted with quiet laughter. A few minutes earlier, Hope had heard Tyreese rise. His steps were the heaviest and she could hear him whenever he moved about. His voice, too, boomed out even when he tried to keep it quiet and low. Her father had been the last to rise. She'd only just heard him scuffle downstairs.

The smell of coffee lingered in the air. With it, there was the strong smell of meat cooking and the faint scent of bread that would be just going into the oven. Celebrations meant breakfast at home instead of in the mess hall. Rations had been delivered the day before while they were making ready for the wedding. Soon her father would start to rouse everyone, knocking at their doors and announcing breakfast if the smell of it cooking hadn't already done the job.

Hope loved mornings and evenings in her home best. She loved the peaceful air that surrounded everyone when they were caught somewhere between waking and sleeping.

Finally giving up her spot in the bed, Hope eased her way out from under Patty as carefully as she could and she worked her body down the bed to get out at the foot. She covered her body with one of the white gowns that had been worn soft for her by either her mother or Carol, and she slipped out of the room and down the hallway. She was the first of "the children" to be awake, but that wouldn't be the case for long.

Stepping into the living room, the smells of breakfast hit Hope and wrapped around her like a blanket. Her father sat on the couch, his feet on the coffee table, and read from a book of some sort. Her mother sat just beside him and worked wool with a drop spindle to pass the time. To her right, just in the dining "nook" that Ty had designed, Ty sat at the long dining table and looked over a stack of papers that he was worrying with a pencil. And at the stove, just as she knew she would be, Carol stood quickly cooking the meat that was producing the heavenly aroma, and depositing it on a platter for later serving.

Hope crossed directly to Carol and wrapped her arms around the woman from behind. Carol swayed her body backward to lean into Hope before she lifted her arm and allowed Hope to slide her body around until they were properly hugging while Carol continued her work with the hand that she wasn't using to pat Hope's back.

"What do you want?" Carol asked, some amusement in her voice.

"I can't give my Caw no loving?" Hope asked.

Carol pushed her off enough to cock her eyebrow at her before she pulled Hope back against her. Hope laughed to herself, but she still relished the hug and the soft feeling of the woman's skin against her face as she rubbed her face against her aunt's neck. Carol shivered, as she always did when one of them touched the scars there.

"Loving doesn't usually come without a price in this house," Carol said. "Not this early in the morning."

Hope hummed.

"Now you make me feel bad for askin'," Hope said. "Because I was really coming for the lovin'. But we do got honey, don't we Caw?"

Carol snorted.

"Just for the loving," Carol said, "and because I know it's entirely without strings, I'll see if some honey can't make it onto your bread. The butter's fresh too."

Hope squeezed her arms tight around Carol as a response and laughed to herself when the woman let out a somewhat dramatic sound to pretend that Hope was crushing her. Hope released her and went into the living room. Her father glanced up from his book only long enough to wink his eye at her and her mother looked so focused on her work that it seemed like she hadn't even noticed Hope's presence. To make sure that she noticed it, Hope went to the coffee table and sat on the edge of it just in front of her mother.

"Hope..." Michonne warned. Hope had anticipated such a warning since her mother was certain that sitting on the table would cause it to collapse.

Hope smiled to herself and moved, then, to the couch where she wedged herself between her parents and leaned into her mother's shoulder. Hope nuzzled her mother's shoulder with her face and leaned over to touch the wool that hadn't yet been spun with her fingertip.

"Did you sleep OK?" Michonne asked.

"Cheyenne slept with me," Hope said.

"That's fine," Michonne said. "But it still doesn't tell me if you slept OK."

"Except for Chey kicks in her sleep I did," Hope said.

"Anything happen after we left last night?" Michonne asked, continuing to twist the wool as she talked.

"What was supposed to happen?" Hope asked.

"I don't know," Michonne responded. "That's why I'm asking. Did you talk to anybody?"

"No, Mama," Hope said. "I just stayed up there amongst everybody an' didn't speak to a soul."

Hope laughed to herself when she heard her father snort. She lifted her face enough to see that he was still reading his book or, at least, he was pretending to read it.

"I meant did you talk to anybody about courting," Michonne said. "Wasn't that what you all stayed up there for so late?"

"I heard you coming in," Carol said from the kitchen. "It must've been almost dawn."

"We didn't talk about courting," Hope said, ignoring her aunt's unexplained ability to never quite be asleep when it came to their nocturnal comings and goings. "We danced. Then when we was tired of that? We sat. I only stayed long as Jude and Paul stayed. I think everybody was just about cleared out by then. When they turned in I come down here with Zeb and Chey."

"Where was Isaac?" Tyreese asked from the table. It was the first sign that he was able to listen and work on whatever he was working on at the same time. "I know the others came in earlier but where was he?"

"He came in early," Carol said. "Not too long after Daryl and Michonne."

"Caw, you got ears like a mountain lion," Hope observed. "Turn all the way around and they don't shut down even when you sleeping."

"When it suits her," Tyreese said. "Other times she can't hear a damn thing."

Hope heard her father snort again, but when she glanced at him he pretended to be absorbed, still, in the book that he was reading. Hope leaned up to search out a title on the book, but whatever title had once been there was gone since most of the cover was missing. Without a doubt, someone had pulled the thing apart when they were young enough to still tear up things they had no business messing with.

"Were Jude and Paul excited to be going to their home?" Michonne asked.

Hope shrugged her shoulders.

"'Bout as excited as they were about anything else," Hope responded.

"Does that mean they weren't excited," Michonne asked, "or that you don't want to talk about it?"

"The wedding's the only damn thing that anybody's talked about since the cold moon," Hope said. "I reckon I'd be just about pleased if we could talk about something else for a change."

"Language," Michonne warned. Hope knew better than to roll her eyes, but she thought about it for a second. Instead, she simply muttered a "sorry" that earned another snort from her father.

"I gotta say," Daryl said, finally closing the book he'd been pretending to read and putting it on the coffee table in front of him, "I agree with Hope. It's about time we started talking about something else. Like—who the hell you got eyes on that I gotta be watchin' out for now that we had to up and announce you ready for courting last night."

Hope felt her cheeks burn warm. She abandoned her seat between her parents as quickly as her knees would allow her and she stepped over her mother's legs to escape the narrow space between the couch and the coffee table. In the process, she nearly tipped the basket of spun yarn that her mother had finished already and her mother hissed at her as her hand darted quickly out to catch it.

"Please, Hope?" Michonne asked.

"Sorry, Mama," Hope responded again, practically running into the kitchen where she hoped that Carol would save her from the conversation. The short distance, however, did nothing to save her.

"You got outta here mighty quick," Daryl said. "That means you got something to tell me? Or something you don't want to tell me?"

"I just got announced last night," Hope said. "And I done said that nothing happened. So there ain't a thing to tell."

"Leave her alone, Daryl," Michonne said.

"I'm just askin' for a little information, 'Chonne," Daryl said.

Hope swallowed and quietly prayed that her mother would be able to get her father's teasing under control. She wasn't ready to talk about it. She didn't want to talk about it all with such an audience. Hope didn't mind showing her feelings, but she preferred to talk about them in private if she was going to put any of them to words.

Her face must have given her away, because even as her mother insisted that he leave her alone, Carol leaned over and put a hand on Hope's shoulder.

"You want him to leave you alone?" Carol asked.

Hope nodded her head and Carol responded with the same gesture. She put down the large fork that she was using to turn the meat and walked around the partial wall that divided the two spaces.

"Daryl—if I remember correctly, some people don't like talk about their feelings at first," Carol said. "Some of them, in fact, would rather brood about them in guard towers for a while."

Hope smiled to herself. She didn't have to understand exactly what was being said to understand what was being said. She breathed out a quiet thanks to her aunt as the woman came back, a smirk on her face, and returned to her work.

"Zeb ain't bein' so shy about his interests," Daryl said. "But I don't know how the hell I'ma feel bein' double bound to the Rhees if it don't fall through."

"I wouldn't worry about any of it too much," Tyreese said. "Love has a way of falling through. It's hot at first, but then it just kind of burns out. Minds get changed a lot. Especially with young love. New love."

"Does it?" Carol asked. "Love just...falls through? Minds change?"

Hope couldn't help but smile at her facial expression and the one that Tyreese offered in response.

"None that I know personally, of course," Tyreese said with a laugh. "But I've heard it happens."

Hope sighed at the thought of how much truth, probably, there could be in those words. Toward the back of the house, she could hear the sounds of the others starting to rise. Rather than stay and risk being dragged back into a conversation that she didn't want to have before breakfast, Hope took the opportunity offered to her by the distraction that the noise of her siblings and cousins caused, and she ducked out to go to the bathroom before she tucked into breakfast.

The conversation, though, she knew was far from over.


	8. Chapter 7

**AN: Here's another chapter here. Much more to come.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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"Mimi the _incredible_ ," Carol said, diving back into the basket for more of the freshly washed wedding clothes to hang. "Mimi the _magnificent_. Mimi the _majestic_."

Michonne laughed to herself.

"I like that one," Michonne said. "I am pretty damn majestic."

Carol snorted and dropped her hands from the line where she left behind the recently hung garment. She wiped her hands across her face, no doubt using the cool residue of the water to cool herself down. She would have argued if Michonne had suggested that she rest—that such a simple task as scrubbing laundry was causing her to break a sweat—but the truth was that none of them were as young as they used to be. Things that they used to take for granted as simple tasks could now tire them out like never before. They all slept fairly soundly, though, so there was some benefit to their daily fatigue.

"You are," Carol said. "You're the most _majestic_ person I know."

Michonne smiled to herself.

"And yet my own children would rather have Caw in a pinch," Michonne said. "That's why you've got to talk to her if anybody's going to get her to talk."

"Psssh," Carol hissed. "You're the problem solver. The easy one. The _fun_ one. I've spent most of the past twenty years hearing—why couldn't Mimi be our Mama? She's so cool. She's so much fun. She's the conquering hero of the Highlands."

Michonne laughed to herself and rolled her eyes.

"Why don't you try on—why can't Caw be our mother? She's so sweet. She's so loving. There's no better lap than Caw's. No better hugs."

"Eh," Carol mused. "Maybe it all evens out at the end of the day."

"You know how Hope can be," Michonne said. "I just think she'll talk to you quicker than she'll talk to me. She's too quick to assume that I'm the bad guy in everything. I'm out to get her."

"And Jude thinks I'm the bad guy most of the time," Carol said. "It happens that way. It always will. But—if you're so keen on me talking to her? I'll talk to her. You know as well as I do, though, that Hope won't talk about anything until she's ready. And when she's ready? She'll _find_ who she wants to talk to. Not the other way around."

"What about Isaac?" Michonne asked.

"What about him?" Carol asked. "Isaac is an open book. He'll talk to anybody and everybody. All day long if you want him to."

"Has he mentioned anything?" Michonne asked. "About courting?"

"Not really," Carol said. "He hasn't purposefully _not_ mentioned anything, either. It just hasn't come up. There's no need for it to come up. Isaac has only ever had eyes for one young lady."

Michonne laughed to herself.

"He's a little like his father," Michonne said. "There's no wandering eye there. Everyone else might as well just not exist."

Carol smiled to herself and went back for another of the garments that people had handed over to her to wash. Michonne ignored the wool she was spinning for the time being. It would be there whenever she wanted it. There was no shortage of work to be done. There never had been, and there never would be.

"He's a lot like his father," Carol said. "And that makes me very happy. It'll make Hope happy too, whether or not she realizes it."

"If that's the way she goes," Michonne mused.

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Hope made her way through the community from the barns where she'd stopped to offer Cricket a treat and spend a little time in the calming presence of the beast. Hope enjoyed the barns, and she enjoyed the company of the animals over the company of most people.

On her walk toward the waterway, Hope did her best to keep from running into anyone. People were always coming and going in the Highland Settlement. There was always some sort of activity taking place. Hope dodged them left and right as she walked, sometimes muttering a greeting to some and simply avoiding colliding with others. After breakfast, Hope had busied herself with a number of chores to put a little distance between herself and her family. She'd managed not to see anyone, really, since the meal had been consumed. Now that she was looking, though, it was easy to find her mother and Carol.

The day after a wedding meant that there would be a good deal of laundry to be done. For some time, they had tinkered with machines that could do the washing for them, but they were in constant need of repair. The upkeep of them was too much, and their failings were too frustrating, so Carol washed everything by hand with the help of whoever would take up the task for a day. Hope, herself, had scrubbed clothes, elbow deep in cold water, for what felt like hours before. It was hard on her hands and it would leave them sore and bleeding. She could understand why so few people volunteered for the job. What she couldn't understand was how her aunt could, without complaint, do it over and over and then simply sit and smear her hands at night with the oil and beeswax hand salve she made to try to soothe them.

When Hope found them, her mother was spinning wool in a chair while Carol hung the garments she'd washed out to dry in the sun. They laughed and talked and passed the time like they did nearly every day.

Hope hadn't seen Judith all day, but the relationship that her mother and aunt shared was the only thing that made Hope somewhat hopeful that Judith's marriage wouldn't keep them apart forever. Marriage, Hope knew, had a way of getting in the way of every other relationship—but that hadn't been the case with her mother and Carol.

Both Hope's father and her uncle teased that the two women were every bit as married to each other as they were to them. To any outsider, it would have seemed true, too. They wore the marks of their devotion to each other proudly. Marks that Hope someday hoped to share with Judith to let everyone know of their lifelong bond of love and kinship.

In the Highland Settlement, just as in the Borderlands, clothes were used for practical purposes and for traditional adornment. Weddings and certain special occasions required certain garments. Winter required others. When the weather was nice, though, clothing was a lot more scarcely worn.

Men, like Hope's father, uncle, and brothers, tended to wear nothing more than a belted piece of cloth to cover their manhood. Women tended to wear the same, depending on their _status_. Hope, like most of the young and unmarried women and girls, wore both the lower cloth and an upper one that banded around her and covered her breasts. When she married, she would have the option of removing the upper piece of cloth—a practice her mother said had originally begun because it made things easier for those of them who had born children and would, in particularly difficult times, have to nurse their own children and sometimes several more besides who had been orphaned. Outside of special occasions which called for special dress, Hope was almost entirely unaccustomed to seeing to either her mother or her aunt with much of their bodies covered.

And the revealing garments left the marks on their skin to be displayed, just as the clothing left everyone's chosen marks quite visible to the eye.

The marks could be introduced into the flesh in a number of ways—whichever manner was most desired by the person wearing them—and they weren't allowed to be chosen until one had been declared an adult and had been presented into society as such. Only as an adult were they allowed to take their marks as they saw fit. Hope had seen marks introduced by breaking the skin and dropping ink into the cuts. She'd seen them introduced by simply wounding the skin deeply enough that it scarred. She'd seen them introduced, as well, by burning the desired design into the flesh with heated wire. The marks weren't mandatory, but they were an open form of declaring the strongest of ties among people.

All of Hope's family had chosen to take their marks with ink introduced into their skin. Some of them had more marks than others, but all of them wore at least a few. Hope could vaguely remember when they'd taken their first marks—some of the first that had been done in the Highland Settlement. She'd been a small child and she'd remembered being quite uncomfortable—because she didn't understand it at the time, and couldn't understand fully what was happening—watching each of them take their marks. She remembered it because she remembered trying to _save_ each of them from something that they clearly found at least a little painful.

They'd chosen to accept the pain, though, for the meaning behind wearing the marks—as did everyone who chose to take them. Each of her family members wore the marks that signified their children—both those living and those passed on—and each of them wore a special mark for each of their past and present partners. Both her mother and her aunt wore, in addition to marks for their respective husbands, a mark that they shared only with each other—both below their left breasts and over their ribs. Both of them the new moon. Hope didn't know the meaning of the symbols chosen, because the choices were very personal for everyone, but she knew that they were meant to visibly connect them together, as all the marks were, for now and for always, as long as there was flesh on their bones.

Hope liked the idea of _gvnvigohida_ — _as long as I live._

Forever wasn't long enough, but it was a start.

Hope closed the distance between herself and the two women, apologizing when she collided with MaryAnne because she wasn't paying full attention to the path that she'd chosen to walk.

"Well...if it isn't the prodigal daughter," Carol said with a smile as Hope approached. "Where'd you go off wandering to today?"

"I haven't left the gates, Caw," Hope responded. "I've spent most of the morning with the horses."

"Has Nantucket foaled yet?" Carol asked.

Hope shook her head.

"I don't believe she ever will," Hope said. "We've had her pinned up for a week now and still there's no foal."

"Foals and babies come at their own time," Carol said. "She'll foal. She's going to wait until there's nobody looking. Someone will fall asleep on the job watching her and then? They'll wake up in the field with two little eyes watching them."

Hope laughed to herself. It was more than likely that when the heavy draft foaled it would happen just that way. It wouldn't be the first time that they'd held vigil over a mare that was set to foal only to have someone close their eyes for a moment and wake to find that the blessed event had taken place during their slumber.

"Women are a lot different," Michonne said. "You won't find anyone going off to have their babies alone. It's a family affair."

Pleased, for a moment, that she wasn't having to hear about weddings and courting—things that had an uncanny ability to make her heart clench like it was caught in a trap—Hope folded her legs and sat comfortably on the ground near her mother. She watched the spindle turn as her mother kept patiently at her work.

"I've never seen a baby delivered," Hope said. "Except for cows and horses. A couple of rabbits."

"You will," Michonne said. "Everyone does. Surely you'll deliver one someday. Jude will likely invite you to her birthing room."

"How many have you seen?" Hope asked, ignoring for a moment whether or not she'd be soon to witness a birth for herself.

"Too many to count," Michonne said.

"Caw?" Hope asked.

"Too many to count," she echoed. She smiled at Hope. "I saw you come into the world. You were the first I ever saw that I wasn't delivering."

"And Isaac was the first that I helped bring into the world," Michonne said. She laughed to herself. "I almost think I was more afraid to be on that end of things than I was to be the one delivering children. I wanted so badly to just—get him out and get it over with. As much, if not more, than I wanted to get you out or your brothers. I was holding my breath the whole time."

Hope swallowed.

"Why were you afraid?" Hope asked.

Michonne shook her head.

"It's a powerful moment," Michonne said. "So much can happen in such a short amount of time. Even in the best of situations, it's still a moment when a brand new life begins. You meet a brand new human being with so much potential for the world. So much future ahead of them."

"But that doesn't sound scary," Hope said. "It sounds exciting."

"It is," Michonne said. "It's mostly exciting. But—you know that, sometimes? Things don't always work out perfectly."

"We lose people," Hope said. Michonne nodded her head.

"And birth is a time for new life, but sometimes it's also a time for lives ended," Michonne said.

"But wouldn't it be scarier to know that you might be the one to die?" Hope asked. She leaned her head over, resting it against her mother's knee. She felt her mother drop a hand from her work long enough to pat her head. Her fingertips were cool as they trailed gently on the side of Hope's face.

"I can answer that one," Carol said. "In your life? You'll come to find that there are things that are far more frightening to lose than your own life."

"If you're lucky," Michonne said. "If you're lucky—you'll find that there are things you fear losing more than your own self."

Hope sat up again from her position.

"Being scared doesn't sound like being lucky, Mama," Hope said.

Michonne hummed.

"It is when the fear comes from—from how much you love someone," Michonne said. "It's terrifying and it's painful but, when you really think about it? You're blessed to have found someone you love so much that—that just losing them could even cause you that much pain. Love is a blessing, Hope. A beautiful, and sometimes painful, blessing." Her mother dipped her hand down and caught Hope's face like she'd always done when she wanted Hope to look at her—to focus on what she was saying. She smiled at Hope. "It's a beautiful, painful blessing that I hope you get to experience many times in your life. In all its different shapes and manifestations. That would by my hope for you, my Hope." Michonne winked her eye at Hope, teasing her about her name, and Hope smiled at her mother. She swallowed back against the tightness in her throat. She looked for something to distract her, even for a moment, and to change the direction of things.

"Do you got something that's needing doing?" Hope asked.

"More wool to spin than you can finish in a day," Michonne said.

"And I've got two dozen dresses left to scrub," Carol offered.

Hope looked between the two of them and reached for one of the large baskets of wool, a spindle already resting there.

"I'll take the wool," Hope said. "And then—you think we could go for a walk? Before supper?" She asked, addressing her mother.

Hope saw her mother look at Carol for a quick second, and then she looked back at Hope and nodded her head. She smiled at her.

"Absolutely," Michonne said. "The wool will wait. Whenever you're ready."


	9. Chapter 8

**AN: Here we go, another chapter here. Plenty more to come, of course.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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Hope walked along beside her mother as her mother guided her back toward their home. At this hour of the day, the house was abandoned and it would offer them the greatest level of privacy that would be available. Hope followed her mother through the quiet house and up the stairs to the bedroom that her parents had resided in for all the life that Hope could remember having. In the room, Michonne sat down on the bed and patted the space beside her.

"You want to sit or...you want to pace?" Michonne asked. Hope looked at her and Michonne smiled. "You're like your father. Sometimes he needs to just—pace it out. That's why the tracks are so well worn in the carpet. A lot of problems have been paced out in this room." She laughed to herself. "Just about any problem you could bring to me? The walls of this house—they've probably heard it before."

Hope walked over and sat on the bed.

She looked at her mother—really looked at her—like she hadn't looked at her in quite some time. Sometimes Hope liked to look at her mother—at her family—and try to imagine what they'd looked like when they were young and had been her age. She tried to imagine who they were then—and if they were really all that different than who she knew them to be now. Looking at her mother, Hope took in the curve of her jaw. The lines of her features—some that Hope shared, some that seemed to belong uniquely to her mother. She took in the marks on her body—some chosen by her and others given to her by life. Hope must have stared too long because her mother shifted a little uncomfortably under her gaze. She brought her fingers to Hope's chin and tipped her face upward to hold her eyes.

"You can tell me anything you want to tell me," Michonne said. "You can ask me _anything_ you want to ask me. I'll never judge you."

Hope shook her head gently.

"I got so many questions that there ain't time to ask them all before supper," Hope admitted.

Michonne laughed to herself. She nodded her head in response.

"Then just choose somewhere to start," Michonne said. "And we'll tackle the rest as they come."

"Did you really court, Mama? Same as everyone else?" Hope asked. "Caw too?"

Michonne laughed to herself again.

"Haven't I told you this story before? Like—a million times?" Michonne asked. Hope stared at her, choosing not to respond. Michonne nodded her head. "Right. Sometimes the same story sounds different at different times." She sighed. "In the old world? Courting was a little different, maybe, but the idea was the same. When I was young? As young as you are? I did court. We called them dates. I don't know—much about Caw's life back then, but what I do know? She courted too. Just the same."

"But it was different with Daddy?" Hope asked.

"It was very different with your Daddy," Michonne said. "And it was very different with Caw and Ty. Your Daddy and I came together when we...didn't even know if we believed there was such a thing as a future together. We didn't know if there'd be a lift together. Our courting was—really _fast_." Michonne's smile broadened. "And a little bit awkward," Michonne admitted. "Your Daddy wasn't always the _smooth_ man that he is now." She sucked in a breath. "I'd say that Ty courted your Caw as much like courting happens now as was possible. But that was a different time. It was a different place than where your Daddy and I began."

"But Daddy ain't the only one," Hope said. She reached her hand up and dragged her fingertip over the marks on Michonne's shoulder that signified her past relationships.

"No," Michonne said. "And neither was Ty for Caw. A lot of us have lost people, Hope. And a lot of us will lose people again. Your Daddy wasn't my only love, but he's been my greatest love."

"And Caw?" Hope pressed.

"I think there's no question that Ty has been her greatest love," Michonne responded.

Hope shook her head and swallowed.

"I meant—did you love her too?" Hope asked.

Michonne looked a little struck. There was an expression that crossed her features that always told Hope when she was asked something that she didn't expect or she was told something she wasn't prepared for. The expression wasn't too common, but it was distinct. The shape of her eyes gave her surprise away. When the look faded, Michonne took a moment to consider her answer. Finally, she nodded her head.

"I loved her very much," Michonne said. "I still do. And—I will, until one of us has to leave the other behind."

"But like—Adalae and Haralee?" Hope asked.

Michonne laughed to herself. It was a nervous sort of laugh.

"You enjoy boxing me in, don't you?" Michonne asked.

Hope shook her head.

"I'm not trying to box you in, Mama," Hope said. "If you don't wanna say..."

"You wouldn't ask if you didn't want to know," Michonne said quickly. "And—you wouldn't want to know if there weren't some reason behind your questions. So—I'm going to tell you a little story. But it's one that I haven't told you before." Hope shifted around on the bed and got more comfortable. Her mother's throat bobbed as she decided where to begin this tale untold. "I loved a woman before I loved your Caw. A long time ago. When this world was still very young." Michonne craned her neck to see the marks that she'd chosen and she put her finger over one of them, a thin line drawn through it to signify that the person for whom it had been put there had passed on. "I loved her very much. And if—if she'd loved me the way that I'd loved her? I don't know that—I'd have ever even met your father."

"What was her name?" Hope asked.

Michonne shook her head.

"It doesn't matter," Michonne said. "All that matters was that she _was_. And she isn't now. And she didn't love me like I loved her. Not the same way." She sucked in a breath. "And I loved your father before I came to love Carol—your Caw—the way that I love her." She shrugged her shoulders. "So Carol and I? We've never loved each other that way. If it had worked out differently? I can't say what would've happened. The what-might-have-beens aren't ours to know because they weren't reality. So if your question is—do I love her very much? My answer is yes. If your question is—has she ever been my partner? In some ways—but not the same as your father. The love is different. I don't know that it's any less important, it's just different. Does that answer your question?"

"What if the person that was supposed to be your partner isn't your partner?" Hope asked. "What if they choose someone else? Or what if—you pick wrong? And you know that they were supposed to be your partner, but they're not."

"If you both feel that way, sometimes—you change partners. Not everyone here is with the person they first chose to be their partner. If that's the best way for things to be, it usually works its way out. And—if it's a situation where you love—well, where you love two people differently? Sometimes they can still be your partner," Michonne said. "Just—in other ways."

"But if they're not your _mate_?" Hope asked. "You love them but—they're not your mate?"

Michonne licked her lips.

"Then they weren't supposed to be your mate," Michonne said. She looked around the room and brought her eyes back to Hope. "Jude?"

Hope's chest caught. It was suddenly more difficult to breathe than she typically remembered the activity being. She didn't respond to her mother, but in the strange way that she usually had of knowing what Hope was saying without her even speaking, Michonne nodded her understanding.

"Judith has chosen her mate," Michonne said. "Her partner. And—that doesn't mean that she can't still be your partner in life. Your heart sister. Someone who loves you incredibly and...infinitely, Hope. Just for being you. Just for existing. It just means...she won't be the only one. She won't be—she _might_ not be—your _greatest_ love."

Hope reached her hand out and traced her finger around the crescent shape that rested below her mother's breast. Michonne tipped her head to watch Hope's finger trace the shape.

"What's it mean?" Hope asked.

"You know that it's not polite to ask anyone about their chosen marks," Michonne said.

"You said I could ask anything," Hope reminded her.

Hope felt the intake of her mother's breath as her hand rose with the expansion of her mother's chest. Michonne blew out her breath and Hope's hand sunk with the movement.

"So I did," Michonne said. "It's the moon."

"The new moon," Hope said.

"A crescent moon," Michonne said. "A new moon. The most recognizable moon, maybe. Because a moon was all that it was meant to be. Carol chose it. It's simple really. The moon comes out at night. It guides our way in the darkness. We found each other during some pretty dark times. We've guided each other through some pretty dark times. The night is the end of the day. The end of life. The moon reminds us that—that we're together. Until the end of life."

"Gvnvigohida," Hope said. "As long as I live."

Michonne nodded her head.

"Gvnvigohida," Michonne echoed. "As long as I live."

"I thought that—I'd spend my life with Judith," Hope said. "Forever. Just like you and Caw. I don't think I thought too much beyond that, Mama."

"And you still can spend your life with Judith," Michonne said. " _Just_ like me and Caw. That's the beautiful thing about love, Hope. It's infinite. It never, ever, _ever_ has to run out. I can love you with all my heart. I can love your brothers and sister with all my heart. I can love—the children I lost with all my heart. And still? There's enough love for me to love your Daddy with all my heart. I can love Carol and your uncle Ty. I can love _so many_ people. And love for one? It doesn't mean any less love for anyone else. Love just keeps refreshing itself. It's the one thing we've got that _never_ runs out. The one thing _never_ has to be rationed. Not even for a season. You can love me and your Daddy and your Caw and Ty—and you never love any of us any less just because you love more than one of us. So Jude can love Paul. And she can love you. And you can love her, but you can also love whoever it is that you choose for your partner and your mate. And you'll still never, ever run out of love for anyone. You'll never live long enough, Hope, to run out of love. It just can't be done."

"What if it don't last forever?" Hope asked.

"Your love?" Michonne asked.

"Any love," Hope said. "You heard Ty this morning. It doesn't last. It changes. People change their mind. What if—you think it's gonna last forever and then it just don't, Mama?"

Michonne laughed to herself.

"Your uncle Ty says things sometimes that he doesn't mean," Michonne said. "He was married in the old world and he was dedicated to her until she passed on. He's love Carol with the same devotion. Your Daddy says those things too, Hope, but sometimes? We just say things—and we don't really mean them."

"But sometimes it don't last," Hope said.

Michonne got up from the bed. She paced a few steps around the room. Hope watched her from the bed. Maybe the need to "pace it out" didn't come entirely from her father. Maybe her mother just wasn't aware of the fact that she, too, needed to pace it out sometimes.

"Sometimes love doesn't last," Michonne agreed. "If it always did? Well, it just doesn't. But it's a chance you take when you love someone. Just the same as—we could lose the ones we love to death? It's a chance we take. It's a risk. A risk that we decide is—is just _worth_ it. We used to say...there used to be a saying that...that it was better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all."

"You've lost," Hope said. Her mother stopped pacing and looked at her. She nodded her head. "Was it better?" Hope asked.

Michonne stopped her pacing to lean with her arm on the top of the tall chest of drawers in the bedroom—a piece of furniture that was damaged badly on one corner from a time in her life when Liam had tried to scale the thing under the encouragement of several of them. Michonne nodded her head.

"It was worth every minute of it," Michonne said. "If I lost your Daddy? Hope—it would make me feel like something was tearing my heart out of my chest. I don't even want to imagine what it would feel like to think that I had to wake up in the morning and keep going on without him. But it would be worth it. Because the joy? The happiness that I've felt for loving him? I wouldn't trade it for the world. And if the pain of loss is something that I have to suffer to pay for that joy? It's a price I'll pay."

Michonne sighed and returned to the bed. She took Hope's hand in hers.

"Do you know who you want, Hope?" Michonne asked. "Or—who you think you _might_ want?" She raised her eyebrows at her daughter. "Now that Jude's off the table as your solitary partner?" Hope dropped her eyes to the floor. "It's OK to be scared of love," Michonne said. "All of us are. I still am. It's a wonderful thing, but it's a little bit scary, too."

"I want forever," Hope said. "I wanna be sure—it's forever."

"You don't get handed forever, Hope," Michonne said. "You make it. You build it. You have to decide, though, who you're building it with."

"I don't know if I'm ready to decide that," Hope said.

Michonne laughed low in her throat. She reached her hand around and rubbed Hope's back.

"Then there's no rush," Michonne said. "The thing about forever is—it waits. Until you're ready? It just—waits. You don't have to decide today."

"But I gotta decide," Hope said.

"If you want it, you do," Michonne responded.


	10. Chapter 9

**AN: Here we go, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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"Hormones so damn thick in the air you can smell 'em everywhere," Daryl commented, wading into the water to cool himself off. They were keeping their distance from the lines they'd run so as not to disturb any of the fish that were considering swallowing down a hook. There were undesirable jobs to be had in the community, and sometimes Daryl got them, but he relished the days when they were sent to the shady areas of the Highland Settlement, where the water pooled the deepest as it ran down from the mountains, to fill barrels with fish. Those days were some of the best. And it was mostly because they were free to spend the majority of the day simply relaxing and then they were hailed as something like heroes when they dragged the full barrels of small fish back to the main part of the community to be prepared. "Even out here you can smell 'em."

Daryl's companions for the day were Rick, Tyreese, and Payton. The extra hands were really only necessary when they were dragging the barrels back, setting the lines, or plucking the fish off the lines like they were pulling grapes free from a vine.

"And it's never bothered you a day before in your whole life," Tyreese mused. "Even though there's always a veritable swamp of hormones floating around."

"They're just kids," Daryl mused.

"They're adults now," Rick said. "That's the rule. Once they're introduced into society and set for courting? They're adults. It's always been the rule. There's no changing it now just because it makes you squeamish that so many of your own kids are finally starting to age into adulthood."

"I just keep seeing all the little assholes wandering around with their eyes all..." Daryl bugged his eyes the best he could in the direction of the other men as he stepped back out of the water. "And I know what the hell they're thinking. And I know they're looking directly at my damn daughter while they're thinking it. Makes me want to just...roll her up in a blanket and put her in the closet until they settle down a little bit."

There was a collective laugh that rumbled through the three men gathered there in Daryl's presence.

"It's an exciting time for all of them. And you'll survive this too," Tyreese offered.

"You don't understand," Daryl said. "I had nightmares last night thinkin' about what the hell they're thinking about doing. It's gonna drive me to a grave."

"Adalae's been married to Haralee for what now?" Tyreese asked. "Ten years? Never...not once...did you act like it bothered you."

"It didn't," Daryl said. "But it's different getting them when they're half-growed and you're just finishing up the raising them until you know they can take care of themselves and...and knowing I _made_ Hope."

"I'd venture to say that Michonne did a little more of the work than you did when it comes to making the kids," Payton offered.

Daryl rolled his eyes at the man and directed his attention back to Tyreese.

"Didn't it bother you? Jude gettin' married last night? And you knowed what the hell was going on. You knowed exactly what the hell he was up to," Daryl said. "What he was planning on doing to her."

Tyreese snorted.

"No, it didn't bother me," Tyreese said. "Because I was too busy focusing on what the hell I was doing to her Mama. It's the circle of life, man. The laws of nature."

"Maybe it's a— _birth_ thing," Rick offered. "Because I can admit that I was happy for Judith when she told me that she was going to marry Paul, but the other part of me? The other part was just looking at him like—I know what you're thinking." Rick laughed. "And I know it because—I've thought it myself. Maybe that's the scariest part of all of it."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"And I know what the hell your son is thinking too," Daryl said, leveling his finger in Tyreese's direction. "Every time I see that smug ass expression on his face. Gotta fight back the urge to tell him to wipe that look off his face or I'll wring his scrawny neck."

Tyreese laughed.

"I don't even know where to begin with that," Tyreese said. "I don't. Maybe I'd start by saying Isaac's neck is anything but scrawny. Second? That smug ass expression is nothing but a smile and he wears it so much I'm almost certain the boy just smiles while he _sleeps_."

"Yeah, but now it's a smile that says he's finally free to run after my daughter," Daryl said.

Tyreese laughed again. He thought the thing was so funny that, much like his son, he hadn't stopped smiling since that morning. He looked like a mule that had gotten hung up in the briar patch—grinning from ear to ear. Daryl had already warned him twice that his face was going to hurt if he didn't stop making that expression.

"It's nature, Daryl," Tyreese said. "The law of the wild. We've raised them their whole lives...their _whole lives_ that finding a partner and finding a _mate_ —someone to spend their lives with—was nature. We've raised them that sex—that _mating—_ was good and healthy and something incredibly special and important. Something to be shared with their partner. Something to be proud of. We've never hidden sex from them. We've let them see good, lusty, healthy sexual appetites and we've told them how important they were between partners. I can't start now telling my boy that I lied about that. Because I didn't lie about it."

"And it don't bother me half as damn much when it's Zeb I see running around with his eyes wide open," Daryl said. "I seen him at breakfast all sliding closer to Lela like nobody was gonna see it. And I actually thought—I thought...atta boy. She's a good lookin' girl. Good head on her shoulders but, you know, good personality. A lotta fun. Good mix of it all. I thought it was good. But it's different when I think about somebody _violating_ my innocent _daughter_. I know how the hell men can be. Fuck—I am one! And I'm standing in the middle of a herd of assholes."

Rick and Payton were watching them, both of them wearing grins on their faces, and Tyreese made a face at both men before he looked back to Daryl.

"Maybe your problem is you're thinking about _violation_ ," Tyreese said. "I never taught my son to violate anything or anyone. The principles that I raised him with? I raised him that your...your woman? Your mate? She's the greatest thing that you ever have in your life. The most precious thing. It's through her that all the good things that you want in life come to you. You _recognize_ that she's precious, and you treat her that way." He shook his head. "Any young woman out here would be _blessed_ if my son was to court them. Even more so if they were to be his chosen partner. Isaac isn't out here looking for someone to fuck. He's out here looking for someone to _worship_. Getting to worship her body is part of the deal—a natural and _healthy_ part of it— but it isn't the only thing he's after."

Daryl sighed.

"I know the principles," Daryl said. "Repeated 'em to Zeb so many times it's like a damn pledge of allegiance. Doesn't mean that it makes it any easier to know it's my daughter that's out there. I've known more'n a couple people who broke the rules before in my life. I don't want my daughter's heart broken. I don't want her to feel like she got used. Not because some little asshole didn't follow those rules."

"I think most follow the laws of the land," Payton offered. "But it's natural they're excited. Hell—I'm jealous of them. All that new love. It's exciting. That's part of the hormone smell. Sheer excitement and possibility. When it gets like this? And a whole bunch of them are out courting? Don't you ever just think about—doing it all again? Wishing you could just start over and melt into the crowd?"

"You mean—pick someone new?" Rick asked. Payton nodded and shrugged at the same time to say that, maybe, he hadn't thought things out that thoroughly. He was making conversation. He hadn't ironed out all the details.

"Or you mean—back up an' go at it again with who you got?" Daryl asked. "Because I don't got much of a taste in my mouth for wading through a buncha kids whose damn asses I diapered and lookin' for a mate."

Payton snorted. He was at least twenty years younger than Daryl, and Daryl figured that those twenty years could make the age gap look a lot less dramatic than it did from where Daryl was standing.

"Taking that out of it," Payton said. "If you didn't know them."

"If I could start over with Carol," Tyreese said, "and both of us were twenty years old and just—getting started? I'd do it in a heartbeat. If I knew we got to keep our kids and...maybe even got a few more surprises along the way? Sign me up. Otherwise? I just don't think she'd care for the practice."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Yeah," he agreed. "Yeah. I mean—the possibility of getting—hell, forty more years with 'Chonne? Just—reliving everything again and then some? I'd do it. But not just wading through a sea of the unknown."

"Something new could be exciting," Payton pointed out.

"You call it exciting," Daryl said. "I never did. Called that shit terrifying. Hell—'Chonne still scares the shit outta me on a regular basis."

"To be fair," Tyreese said, "I see what you're saying. Something new can be exciting. But something old can be exciting too. Depends on how your head is screwed on. Besides—I like comfortable. I'm not as young as I was ten years ago. I'm certainly not as young as I was twenty years ago. And the nights when the promise ends up being about as good as it gets? I like having a wife who still makes me feel like I'm the top stud of this whole damn settlement—from here all the way to Georgia. Knowing I can still walk around with my head held up because she's never going to call me out for something not being everything I made it out to be."

"I think I'd be too damn scared to start over now, anyway," Daryl said. "Honestly? As many damn people as live here now? And how many come in and out with the seasons? I don't know if I'd be lucky enough to win 'Chonne back without all the damn history we got between us. Besides—ain't you one of 'em that makes a change about every two years or so? You and Rick both—neither of you oughta be wondering what it's like to just up and start again."

Payton and Rick both laughed. Rick shook his head at Daryl, maybe to suggest that he didn't think it was a fair comment, but it was pretty fair. Both men cycled through the available women at an alarming rate. It was enough that Daryl usually teased that they were going shopping anytime anyone new migrated into the group from some other location.

"Elizabeth and me are going on five years now," Payton said. "that has to count for something. You know—not everyone thinks the first woman they pick out of the bunch is the best one there is. That's settling. There's something to be said about being selective."

"There's sure somethin' I say about it," Daryl said. "If selective is what you're callin' it these days."

"And MaryAnne and I have been together since Haralee and Adalae got married," Rick said. "It's not a weekend fling like you're making it out to be."

"But you leave a long line in your wake," Daryl said. "And I think that's what the hell I'm the most worried about. I don't want Hope gettin' dropped by someone when she's gone into it thinking this shit is forever. I don't want some asshole waking her up one day to say—I see everybody's out courtin' and I was thinking we might wanna get back in the game."

"It's a risk you take," Payton said. "Even I know that. There's a chance that they just realize that they're not compatible. You can't force it. If it's not there, it's just not there. You got lucky. It was there with Michonne. But that's what brought you together and that's what kept you together. If it wasn't there? You might not have ever ended up together. And if you kind of realized that it wasn't what you thought it was? You might not have stayed together."

"I'm going to agree with that," Tyreese said. "But I'm also going to disagree with it. The feeling has to be there, but it's not coming without work. You don't just put a tree in a hole in the ground, walk away, and expect it to grow. If you wouldn't expect a tree to grow that way—why would you expect your relationship to grow that way? It takes work and it takes determination. Nothing we got here started just like it is. Nothing was built in a day, and none of it was built without some of us busting our asses and breaking our backs. It's the same in every aspect of life. Marriage takes work and determination not to give up just because the dirt's hard."

"Hear, hear to that," Daryl commented. "Still, when it's my kid whose heart might get stomped on? I'm pretty damn worried that there's a lot more of those that think like you," he pointed to Payton, "than those that think like you. Wake up one day and just think—it's too damn hard. Better to throw all this away and just start back with the fun stuff. The new shit. Like I won't never get bored again. Like it's better to start over than find something that ain't boring in what's just gotten a little damn dull with age."

Tyreese grinned at him.

"Like everything else," Tyreese said. "The shine wears off? You just rub it good until it comes back."

Daryl rolled his eyes at Tyreese.

"Shut the fuck up," he said. "Help me get these damn fish off the line. Talkin' to you assholes is like talkin' to mud."


	11. Chapter 10

**AN: Here we go, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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"So if she can't have Jude, she's gonna just pick again?" Daryl asked.

Michonne laughed to herself.

"Yeah, I guess she's going to just pick again," Michonne said. "It's not like most of us were limited by the first person we ever thought we could have a relationship with. I mean—I've had a few more relationships than just one. And you weren't a virgin when I married you."

"Close enough," Daryl said. "I mean—I'd had sex before. But not enough I was calling anybody up to tell 'em about it, 'Chonne. And I never had no real relationships before you."

"But that doesn't mean that you were limited to the first woman that you ever found attractive," Michonne said. "Or the first person, either."

"Does that mean Hope's a lesbian?" Daryl asked.

"It doesn't mean she is," Michonne said. "And it doesn't mean she isn't. It means she was attracted to Jude and we're just going to see where it goes from there. Besides—you and I both know we've caught her kissing more than once and it was _always_ Isaac she was tangled up with. So..."

"So you can just be both," Daryl said. "A lesbian and not a lesbian."

"I believe the preferred term is bisexual," Michonne said. "But it's the same point. More or less. Besides—I told you about Andrea. My love for her didn't mean that I was forever destined to be with women any more than my marriage to Dean meant that I was forever tied to men. It's just—it's like the tide. It changes depending on the pull of the moon. Or the pull of the person that you're attracted to."

"I'd almost rather it be just the girls she was lookin' at," Daryl said. "They're a lot more innocent than the men."

"That's all in your head," Michonne said. "I know plenty of women who are just as dirty as men. In fact—I'm one of them."

She wagged her eyebrows at Daryl and he laughed at her in spite of himself, but it only took him a second to return to his somewhat sullen expression.

"I'm serious, 'Chonne," Daryl said. "I'm not talkin' about like—you married and you're just talkin' about me. I'm talkin' about how women...they look at men as more as like a whole. Like...well, you look at men and you're thinking he's nice. I might wanna marry him. Might wanna have kids with him and...and whatever. Clean his house or some shit."

Michonne snorted and dropped to her pillow, giving way for a second to the laughter that rolled through her.

"He's nice. I might want to clean his house," Michonne said. "Is that really what you think women think, Daryl? He's nice and I might want to pop out a couple of kids for him and clean his house?"

"You know what I'm trying to say," Daryl said, swatting at Michonne.

"No, I don't," Michonne said. "Please—tell me some more about what women think. Because I was completely unaware that this was how this whole thing went."

"Shut up, 'Chonne," Daryl said, catching her laughter. "What I'm tryin' to say is that women are thinking about other things. Like—family and can he take care of you. Is he gonna get you what you need and is he gonna be a good father and all that shit. Men? Especially these little assholes? The only think they're thinking right now is where the hell they're gonna put their dicks the minute they get permission. And there ain't no such thing as safe sex no more so you can hang that up."

Michonne pushed herself up and sat more comfortably on the bed, somewhat looming over husband. She didn't try to swallow back her smile.

"Maybe some men are thinking like that, but I don't think all of them are," Michonne said. She held her hand up at Daryl. "Just hear me out, OK? You have always—always—had this idea of how life would be. That you'd have a wife. You'd have four children. A perfect little dream life. So you're telling me that the first time—the very first time—that you saw me or...that's not fair...the very first time that you thought of me as more than just someone who lived in a prison with you—you thought of fucking me and nothing else?"

"No," Daryl said. "The very first time I even thought of it? Even just a little bit? I didn't think of fucking you and nothing else."

"So there you have it," Michonne said. "Not all men think that right away. And therefore it's not right to generalize like that."

Daryl smirked at her.

"I thought about seein' you wet and naked," Daryl said. "And then I thought you were so damn terrifying that I never got around to the fucking. Not at first."

Michonne furrowed her brows at him.

"Wet and naked?" She asked.

"First damn time I ever thought of you naked? Some shit was going on and you was talkin' about bubble baths," Daryl said. "And there I was—just thinking—I wouldn't mind seeing her wet and naked. A little soap just kinda—running down there."

"But that was the first time you thought of me in a sexual way," Michonne said, keeping her expression as neutral as possible. "Not the first time that you thought you might like to have a relationship with me."

"That's a chicken or the egg problem, 'Chonne," Daryl said. "They come at the same time as far as I know."

"OK," Michonne said. "Maybe you're not the exception. But Ty wasn't thinking about that in the beginning with Carol. And Isaac follows very closely in his father's footsteps, so he's probably not thinking about it either."

"Fuck if he weren't thinkin' about it from the word go," Daryl said. "I guarantee you."

"They probably dated longer than anybody has since the whole world turned upside down," Michonne said. "And I was involved in getting the whole sexual thing off the ground. I was practically a pimp setting up their first time."

"Said he thought about it, not that he done it, 'Chonne," Daryl said. He threw back the blanket that was covering him and Michonne watched as he quickly tied on the wrap that he kept near the bed to cover himself.

"What are you doing?" Michonne asked.

"Going to solve this problem," Daryl said. "Same as I do every time we can't agree on something. I'ma prove it to you."

"They're asleep, Daryl," Michonne said, seeing Daryl heading for the bedroom door.

"They're never asleep," Daryl said, continuing on his way. Michonne got off the bed, put on her own garment, and followed after Daryl. She protested his waking them once more, but he was already knocking on the closed door. Unfortunately, throughout the years, the back and forth traffic to solve little "arguments" wasn't entirely uncommon and the traffic flowed both ways.

"Whatta you want?" Tyreese called.

"Comin' in," Daryl said. "Got a question."

He considered that announcement enough and stepped into the bedroom. Michonne followed after him and heard the scrambling around while Carol moved to light the lamp she kept by the bedside.

"What is it?" Carol asked.

"Ain't a question for you," Daryl said. "Ty—when you were first thinkin' about being with Carol, were you thinking about having sex with her?"

"The first time I thought about sleeping with her...was I thinking about sleeping with her?" Tyreese asked. "What the hell else would I have been thinking about? Making French toast?"

"Back in Georgia," Michonne clarified. "When I first introduced you to the idea of having a relationship with Carol. Was the first thing you thought about sleeping with her?"

Carol rolled over and faced Tyreese and he playfully put his hand up to block her face. She laughed at the gesture.

"Were you?" Carol asked.

"There ain't no reason to lie about it," Tyreese said. "Yeah. That's probably the first thing I thought about."

"The very first thing?" Michonne asked. "Not—family or home or anything?"

Tyreese laughed low in his throat.

"No, before I was thinking about family and home, I was definitely thinking about whether or not this was somebody that I was going to want to..." He broke off and cleared his throat. "You know. I mean—there's no building a home with someone you don't want to drag upstairs to your bed."

"That's flattering," Carol said. "That I passed that test. What? It really is."

"OK," Michonne said. "But you two dated for a while before you got there. I can't believe that's all you were thinking about."

"You didn't say that had to be all I was thinking about," Tyreese said. "You said what was I thinking about first."

"And you still had the patience of a saint?" Michonne asked.

Tyreese snorted.

"More like the Eye of the Tiger playing in my head," Tyreese said.

"I told you," Daryl said, looking at Michonne. He was so excited, for the moment, over his victory that he forgot that proving his own theory right just meant that he would have to sink back into the pit of despair over the fact that his daughter was now looking to be courted by some young men who were, according to Daryl's theory, only thinking about whether or not they wanted to have sex with her.

Michonne forced a smile at him and nodded her head.

"You're right," Michonne said. "All men think first about sex before they think about anything else. And that includes—all the young men that'll be trying to court Hope."

Daryl's expression fell. The taste of victory wasn't as sweet anymore.

"Not Isaac," Carol offered. "He's a sweet boy."

"Possum's just as damn bad as the rest of 'em," Daryl said to her. "Sweet ain't got a thing to do with it."

"He's right," Tyreese said. "I'm sweet."

Carol sat up in the bed and moved their blanket to make sure she was at least somewhat covered.

"Maybe it's not a terrible thing," Carol said. "I mean—so Ty wanted to have sex with me. I wanted to have sex with him...after I worked up to it. It's a good thing. It's something we enjoy. Why is it such a terrible thing if they're thinking about something that we already know they're thinking about? Isaac wants a home. We know that. He wants a family. A big one. He wants a wife. What's so wrong with him wanting to want to have sex with his wife?"

"There ain't nothin' wrong with it," Daryl said. "There ain't a damn thing wrong with it. Except the fact that it's Hope. And if they get too damn carried away? We got babies and they ain't even married. And besides that? It gives me the damn willies just thinking about it."

"You want grandkids, don't you?" Michonne asked.

"Well, yeah," Daryl said.

"How did you think that was going to happen?" Michonne asked.

"Immaculate conception, Michonne," Daryl said. "That's how I thought it was gonna happen. They was just gonna happen. Simple as that." He sighed. "Listen—I know it's gotta happen. But I don't want grandkids right away. Not—some shotgun wedding."

Michonne smiled at him.

"And Hope already knows where babies come from and she'll hear it a lot more in the coming months," Michonne said. "And we'll remind them that you wait until you make a commitment. Or, at least, that's what we promote doing—since we can't exactly say we followed our own rules."

Daryl frowned at her.

Michonne wrapped her arms around Daryl's neck and pulled him to her. He wasn't nearly as angry about it as he might pretend to be, but he was a little upset. Their children had done exactly what they'd wanted them to do. They'd grown up. They'd become independent thinkers. They were starting to build lives for themselves.

And Daryl had forgotten, somewhere along the line, that part of that meant that he and Michonne had to let them go.

"You can be sure that Hope is going to put whoever she chooses through the wringer, Daryl," Michonne said. "And when that person, whoever it might be, comes out on the other side? Proving they had enough stamina and enough want-to to hang in there? She's going to be happily married—with all the rights and privileges that entails."

Daryl hugged Michonne back and she felt him move enough to kiss her neck before he pulled away.

He looked at Carol and Tyreese who were watching them from their positions in the bed and pointed a finger at them. He smirked at them, his expression almost matching the ones that they were wearing as they looked on with amusement.

"I'm holdin' you two personally responsible if your son does anything stupid," Daryl said, "to hurt my little girl."

"And I'm holding you personally responsible," Carol responded, "if your daughter does anything to hurt my little boy."

Daryl looked a little surprised. He looked like he hadn't expected, at all, that the protective instinct might run both ways. But Michonne knew, as well as any mother did, that just because they might not stomp and snort and tell the world how they felt about things—it didn't mean that they weren't always waiting and watching.

It didn't matter, boy or girl, how old they got. A parent's instinct was always to protect. Let them leave the nest, yes. Let them wander some distance away and try life out for themselves, absolutely. But the instinct remained to always be ready to jump to their defense.

Daryl laughed quietly.

"Hope wouldn't hurt nobody," Daryl said.

"Neither would Isaac," Carol said. "So I guess—if they end up together? We don't have anything to worry about."

"That's the point right there," Michonne said. "We've got nothing to worry about. It's time for them to think about their lives and decide what they want. We can help. We can offer advice. We can—sometimes cover our eyes and peek through our fingers. But at the end of the day? There was nobody telling us how to get here. We've got to let them get where they're going." Michonne reached and patted Daryl's arm. "And I hope that it never happens, but sometimes we have to accept that also means letting them get hurt. At least, within reason."

"I'm too damn old for this shit," Daryl said.

Michonne laughed and pushed her husband's shoulder, suggesting to him that they should cross the hall and return to bed. They both offered the second round of goodnights to their companions, and Michonne followed Daryl back to their own bedroom where he made short work of getting into bed again.

As soon as they settled, Michonne blew out their lamp and wiggled her way toward Daryl. She found his back and hugged her body against it, kissing his shoulder blade.

"Hope's going to be alright. Zeb's going to be alright. They're all going to be alright. This is the fun part for us. Not the stressful part. We got them this far. Now? We just get to sit back and—see where they take it from here."

"You right, 'Chonne," Daryl said.

"I always am," Michonne agreed.

"Still stresses me out, though," Daryl said. "Thinking about it all."

Michonne laughed to herself.

"Then don't think about it," Michonne said. "Just—roll over here and...think about me for a few minutes. And I'll help you get to sleep."


	12. Chapter 11

**AN: Here we go, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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"Jonathan!" Carol called. "Jonathan! I know you hear me!"

Michonne laughed to herself. She knew that Jonathan heard Carol. Everyone heard Carol. Like every teenager since the dawn of time, though, Jonathan was desperately trying to pretend that he couldn't hear a word that his mother said. Finally he gave up the fight, though, and steered his steps in the direction of where they were waiting outside of one of the storage barns.

"What is it?" Jonathan called as he approached.

"I beg your pardon?" Carol responded, her hands on her hips.

"What is it you need, Mama?" Jonathan asked, this time checking his tone of voice.

"I need you to do what I asked you to do this morning," Carol said. "We've moved everything that needs to go to the wagons to the front. All the crates are tagged. Can you take them over, please?"

Jonathan froze—like a wall—to keep from giving away entirely the fact that he didn't want to move crates for half the day. Finally, he sighed and let his shoulders slump forward.

"Why can't Isaac do it?" Jonathan asked. "Or Liam?"

"Because your brother was up and working on those wagons a few hours before you rolled your lazy butt out of bed," Carol responded. "So I didn't ask him to move crates too. And Liam is out hunting with Daryl so the deer population doesn't get out of control again. Go—start moving."

"Yes ma'am," Jonathan mustered up with some level of defeat in his voice.

Michonne bit her lip and watched as the boy stepped into the barn to start surveying the magnitude of his job for the day. Then she joined Carol as they headed for the next barn to start the process again of marking crates and moving them forward for someone to carry.

They didn't make it to the barn, though, before Michonne caught Carol's shoulder and pointed up the hill. Carol followed Michonne's finger with her eyes.

"That looks like somebody coming courting if I've ever seen it," Michonne said.

Isaac was coming down the hill with a bouquet of the spring wildflowers that was almost comical in size. He spotted them and threw up the hand that wasn't supporting the bouquet to wave. Michonne and Carol both waved back at him.

Isaac was arguably the largest man, at this point, in their community. He stood a good bit taller than his father—easily clearing six foot and then some—and he was every bit as broad. Having taken up his father's profession at an early age and having spent most of his life with a hammer in his hands, he was nearly a brick wall with the capacity to move about and, clearly, to pick wildflowers in his spare time.

Zeb had grown up beside Isaac as his best friend, closest childhood confidant, and fiercest competitor. Michonne thought, of course, that her son was far more handsome than Isaac, but she couldn't pretend that Isaac didn't turn his fair share of heads in the community. Zeb had never been built quite like Isaac, either. He had stopped growing about the time he'd reached Daryl's height and, though he was almost entirely comprised of muscle, he was a wiry build. Zeb could outrun just about anything—and he'd actually caught a couple of their runaway horses on foot—but he wasn't built to _stop_ the horses by simply standing in front of them like his cousin seemed to be.

Their differences had led to more than one scrapping contest between the boys growing up – usually started by Zeb, though Isaac never backed down from a fight that someone had started – and Daryl and Tyreese didn't discourage them. Their idea was that the boys needed to get their strange pissing contests out of the way so that, one day, they'd figure out that their differences made them stronger _together_.

Michonne hated the fighting when it broke out, though, as did Carol. Both of them loved each other's children as though they were their own. Nobody wanted to see heart-brothers fighting over something as ridiculous as some primordial need to establish dominance. But it was a tale as old as time.

Isaac came directly toward them and, upon reaching them, he pulled a small bunch of flowers from his bouquet and tucked them behind Carol's ear.

"For my beautiful Mama," he said. Carol smiled at him and he leaned in to kiss her cheek. Then he straightened up, pulled a large red flower from the bunch, and offered it in Michonne's direction as he closed the few steps that separated them. "For my beautiful Mimi," he said, leaning to kiss Michonne's cheek as she accepted the flower.

"Are you going courting?" Michonne asked.

Isaac smiled broadly.

"It's a nice day for courting, Mimi," Isaac said.

"That it is," Michonne said. "Who's the lucky lady?"

Isaac simply continued to smile and redirected his attention to Carol.

"Did you need help with something, Mama? I heard you callin' Jonathan," Isaac said.

"I got him," Carol said. "You don't worry about it. Go—enjoy yourself. We're just loading the wagons for the trade."

"I could move a couple crates," Isaac assured them.

"I'm sure you can," Michonne said. "But so can Jonathan and Zeb when I find him. Go. Before your flowers wilt."

Isaac nodded his head at them, his smile renewed with the mention of his flowers, and he started off again to deliver the flowers that he'd gathered. Michonne watched him walk away from them, hoping to know for sure where he was going—even if she could guess for herself—but she finally turned her eyes away from him when she heard Carol calling her for help moving some of the crates that she'd already marked as ready to go.

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Finding Hope wasn't as difficult as some people made it out to be. She typically had a routine, and Isaac knew that routine well. The only time she slipped them entirely was when she left the gates, but Isaac could find Cricket grazing in the herd with ease, so he knew that Hope hadn't left the Settlement.

He found her a short distance away from the training field where they worked with the foals who were ready to train. She was sitting on a bench in the shade that he'd built for her to have somewhere to cool off when she was tired of her horse friends.

"Beautiful flowers," he said, approaching her, "for you." Hope looked at the flowers and looked back at Isaac. She didn't reach a hand out to take them. She didn't offer him a smile. She looked like he'd done something unspeakable. She looked like she couldn't be more disgusted with him if he'd stomped on her toe and kicked mud in her face. Hope wasn't always like this, but when she was? She was committed to the cause. "Can I sit?" Isaac asked.

"I don't own the bench," Hope said.

"No, not exactly," Isaac said, "but if I sit, are you going to bolt?"

"Sit down," Hope said with a sigh.

Isaac did sit down. He didn't point out to Hope that she didn't move over for him and only left him with a corner to balance on. He offered her the flowers again.

"I picked these for you," Isaac said.

"You'da been better to leave 'em in the ground," Hope said.

"I do something to make you mad?" Isaac asked. "Or I don't get to know? Because I could maybe make it better if you'd be good enough to tell me what I done."

Hope frowned at him.

Hope was one of Isaac's closest friends. As long as he could remember, she'd been the kind that was always up for an adventure, as she called them, and she was always dragging him along with her because he never argued against what she wanted to do. He liked to see her happy. He liked to see her smiling and hear her laughing. In all honesty, Isaac liked everything about Hope—even the way she sulked.

And Hope had been his first kiss—a quick peck on the lips out near the rabbit pens that had made his heart nearly stop. She'd been every kiss since then, too, all equally quick and exciting—all feeling like they were somehow forbidden.

Finally they weren't forbidden, but it didn't seem like Hope had all that much interest in kissing him at the moment.

"You don't want the flowers then," Isaac said. "That it? Because you've never been mad about picking them before. Your favorite part of spring. Sticking them all up in your hair so you look like a forest fairy." Hope didn't respond to him right away. "I could give them to someone else, you know, if you don't want them."

Hope reached over and snatched the flowers from Isaac. She rested them on her lap and sat there picking some of the leaves off of them and shredding them with her fingertips.

"I supposed you're thinking that if I'm takin' the flowers that means we're courting," Hope said finally.

Isaac shrugged his shoulders.

"I was hoping that what it meant," Isaac said. "But if it don't mean that? I guess—it just means I picked you some flowers because I thought they were pretty enough that you might like them."

"This how you think courting goes?" Hope asked. "You bring me flowers and I just—marry you? Tomorrow or something like I just can't stop myself."

Isaac chewed his lip.

"I wasn't thinking about getting married tomorrow," Isaac said. "I was _hoping_ that you'd take the flowers. And then, maybe, that you'd sit some with me this evening? William was saying they were gonna play and sing some tonight up by the circle. After supper. I know you like the music. Figured we could go up and dance. Or just sit a while and listen—if you didn't really feel like dancing. But if you're mad at me..."

"I'm not mad," Hope said. "At least—I don't think I'm mad."

Isaac laughed to himself.

"You'd be the one to know," Isaac said. "And if you don't know, then I'm not sure I can help you. What's got you so riled up? You've been mad at me a couple of days."

"Because I feel like you're breathing down my neck," Hope said. "I don't like that feeling."

"Your moons come on you?" Isaac asked. Hope gave him a look and he laughed to himself. Everyone knew that when a woman's moons came upon her she was likely to act a little outside of herself. It was simply nature. She never liked to be told that, of course, but it was just as much fact as water ran downhill. "You been sour with me if you aren't mad. And I haven't even been around you much to breathe down your neck."

"Everyone's pushing this courting," Hope said.

Isaac nodded his head.

"Because it's what we want," Isaac said. "It's—why we asked to be announced. They want us to have what we want, that's all."

"Is it what we want?" Hope asked.

"Is it what you want?" Isaac asked. Hope didn't answer him immediately. "You know it's what I want. I want a partner. A woman of my own. I want—someone I can take care of. Someone who's taking care of me. A nice little house up there—right in that corner where I've always wanted it. Quiet and away. Just the two of us. Until, of course, we have us a family. A big family. Together. You know that's what I want."

"Everyone staring and waiting is a lot of pressure," Hope said. "Don't you feel it?"

"I don't pay much mind to them," Isaac admitted. "Doesn't matter what they want. Not as long as I get what I want. Listen—I'm in no hurry, Hope. I had another good year or two before I even would've felt like I had to be announced. Was you that chose this year and you know that I only did it because of you. If time's what you want, then you got all the time in the world. But—you have to tell me that's what you want. And you have to tell me—you want what I want. Because if you don't? I have to find me someone that does. I gotta find a new girl to love—one that wants to love me back."

"I'm just not sure about things right now," Hope said. "I mean—forever's an awful long time."

"Yeah," Isaac said. "If we're lucky? It sure is."

"I'm not ready to get married yet," Hope said. "I'm just not."

"Good thing I didn't ask you to marry me," Isaac responded.

He could feel the air around Hope starting to shift. He could see the relaxation starting to settle into her body. Her posture shifted. She relaxed forward. She stopped murdering the flowers one by one and dropping their shredded remains at their feet.

"I want a partner," Hope said. "One that's all mine. Just for me. For all of my life. Never leaving that I don't go too."

"That's how it works," Isaac said. "As I understand it."

"I'm not sure when I want to get married," Hope said. "But—I know it isn't tomorrow. And it isn't the day after that."

"Well," Isaac offered, "forever _is_ a long time." He laughed to himself again. "I guess you could wait until—even next week to start with it." Hope glared at him, but the glare softened. She tried to swallow it back, but Isaac saw the twitching at the corners of her mouth. He leaned into her and bumped her with his arm. "What if we were just to start with sitting a while? Listening to the music after dinner?"

Hope nodded her head.

"That's a yes?" Isaac asked. Hope nodded her head again and Isaac offered her a smile. He didn't dare to try to touch her or kiss her at the moment—he didn't want her to read it wrong. He didn't want it to be too much. He stood up, instead, to head back and help with the wagons. "After dinner, then," he said. "You might want to put them flowers in some water. They won't come back from it once they catch the wilt."


	13. Chapter 12

**AN: Here we go, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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Michonne had heard once that we live with our ghosts.

Age and experience had taught her that was true. It was truer than she ever realized the first time she'd ever heard such a phrase uttered. They all lived with their ghosts. Their ghosts surrounded them. Daily they came into contact with them. Daily they confronted them. Just because they did it in silence, didn't mean that the ghosts were any less present.

Those who had known Lori had commented on how much Judith looked like the woman. Whereas Lori's eyes had been brown, Judith's eyes were a dark green color that looked like the moss that coated some of the creek rocks in the waterway that had become a lifeline to them all. From what Michonne could tell, eye color was the only thing that really kept Judith from being Lori's replica.

Michonne wouldn't really know. She had only seen a picture of Lori once—a very long time ago—and she hadn't cared enough about the woman to memorize her features. In Carl's face, Michonne saw a great deal of Rick and only saw snatches of resemblance between the boy and his half-sister.

One thing everyone had stopped doing, finally, was saying that Judith looked like her "mother".

Though biology made Lori her mother, the girl had never known her and, for a short time while Judith was growing up such statements had caused her a good bit of pain. Those statements distanced her, purposefully or otherwise, from the mother that she did know. It was for the good of them both that Lori became Lori—Judith's life-giver—and Carol had been allowed to rest in the knowledge that she was Judith's mother, even if she'd never carried her inside her body.

But Lori was a ghost—a visible one—in all their lives, and she always would be, even if they didn't put the language behind it. Things were still said sometimes, often carelessly by Rick, that would shake up Judith and the people she regarded as the closest members of her family unit, but for the most part people were more mindful of Judith's feelings than they once had been.

Still, in Michonne's opinion, biology was no match for environment.

Judith might share Lori's features and, therefore, some might say she looked like her _mother_ , but she resembled her _mama_ in every other way that mattered.

"Sweetheart—it couldn't be that bad," Carol said with a soft chuckle. She reached a hand across the table and covered Judith's hand with her own. Judith sat, her fingers tangled up in her hair, with her elbow resting on the table.

"Well it certainly wasn't that _good_ ," she fretted.

Michonne laughed to herself.

Judith was a freshly married woman and, perhaps, they'd done her some disservice. Sex, in their community, was something wonderful. It was something that people talked about. It was something that they didn't hide. There was no shame in a full and rich sex life. On the contrary, it was open and shared and bragged about. They'd considered hiding it from their children—pretending it was something that didn't happen or something that wasn't to be discussed—but the days of that were far behind them. They all still remembered being on the road—sharing spaces so tight and sometimes so dark that it had led to more than one embarrassing or even horrifying experience between them—and they all remembered how much of a struggle it had been to shake off their learned feelings of shame. They'd decided to raise their children without that shame. It was a burden that was unnecessary to bear.

As a result, maybe Judith's expectations had gotten a little high. Maybe Paul's had too, though Michonne didn't know who he might be talking with or what he might be saying. According to Judith, they'd shared their marital bed their first night "as was intended," but since then she'd put the continental divide between them for the past two nights.

Hope sat, listening to Judith unload her woes on her mother's shoulders, with nothing more than idle curiosity on her features.

"Sweetheart," Carol offered, "the first time? It isn't always the best. OK? In fact? You might look back at it as being the worst."

"It's supposed to be _special_ ," Judith lamented.

Michonne bit her lip to hold back the laughter that she could feel boiling around inside her chest. It wasn't time or the place for it, and she knew that. This tragedy of a less-than-imagined first night together was a real tragedy to Judith, even if it was a minor tragedy in the landscape of life.

"Jude, sometimes good and special don't always go together," Michonne said. "All in all? It was a first time. And the first time you do anything? It's not always your best performance. The first time your Mama and Daddy...well—the first time? She wouldn't let him near her for three days at least. He did everything he could to win her back over." Michonne let herself laugh then, thankful for the fact that she could disguise it as laughter at Carol's expense and get it out of her system. "That man did everything he could do to convince her that the second time would be better. He'd have juggled and tap danced if he'd thought that would've won her over."

Judith looked at Carol whose cheeks had gone a little pink.

"That true, Mama?" Judith asked.

Carol looked at Michonne and cocked an eyebrow at her. She smirked before she looked back at Judith and nodded her head.

"The first time wasn't a great time," Carol said. "I mean it was good to be with him, and it was what I wanted, but it didn't feel as good as I wanted it to. And—if I'm being honest? The second and third times weren't either. But we worked it out."

"And once they did, it was never the same for any of us," Michonne offered.

Carol eyed her again.

"Don't let your Mimi pretend that everything was always great there, either," Carol said.

"I didn't say that," Michonne said. "I didn't say a single thing about it always being great. My point is that you can't judge a book by its cover or your whole relationship on one night. You were probably too excited and you probably rushed into things a little too quickly. You'll talk about it now. Play around. See what you like. Communication is the key."

Carol stood up from the table and rummaged around in one of the numerous free standing cabinets that lined the walls of the slightly cluttered cabin that held a little of everything that someone might need. From the shelves, she took out one of the jars that she'd sealed herself and put it on the table before she sat down again.

"And this'll help get things moving," Carol said. "Lubricant. A little of this goes a long way."

Judith picked up the jar and turned it over in her hand. Michonne saw Hope raise up slightly from her seat to examine the jar, but all in all she looked a little nauseous from the conversation.

"Your Mama has been perfecting that recipe for years," Michonne said. "That stuff, Jude? It could get a bus through a window—and probably without scratching the sides."

Judith crinkled her nose at Michonne.

"A what?" She asked.

Michonne shook her head.

"Don't worry about it," Michonne said. "Just use it. You can thank her later. And be honest. If you don't like something, tell him you don't like it. Talk about how you could try something else."

"But be open minded," Carol added quickly. "It's not fair for it all to be your way, either. There's some give and take. Sometimes—you deal with something you like a little less just because he likes it a little more. There has to be a tradeoff."

Judith hummed and continued to turn the small jar around in her hands.

"I don't think you understand what it was like. What if I don't ever like it?" She asked.

Carol laughed to herself. She patted Judith's arm.

"Paul's a good boy," Carol said. "If I didn't know him as well, I might worry about that...but I don't. Talk to him. He's your husband now. It's time to start working things out. There are going to be a lot of things to work out. Consider this the first. Maybe even the easiest."

"Mimi?" Judith asked, turning her eyes toward Michonne.

Michonne swallowed back her humor over the situation because Judith had her own special way of making it look like the sky was falling.

"Don't Mimi me," Michonne said. "Your Mama is right. We can tell you that it's normal. We can tell you that it'll work out and you'll wonder why you were even worried that it wasn't going to get any better. We can tell you to talk to him. But you're the only one that can sit down and talk to your husband. You won't be the first to do it and you won't be the last. But you've got to be the one to do it. Take the afternoon. Take your jar. Go home and sit down with him. And for goodness sake—take your _time_. It's not a race. Not for either of you. Forever is a long time. You can take it slow."

After a few more questions and a little more begging for reassurances, and Judith took her jar and left in search of her newly minted husband. Carol left the table and stepped into the small kitchen of the little house—only used for her personal projects since they'd built the mess hall where meals were prepared for anyone looking to eat communally—and turned her attention to seasoning meat that she'd take over for them to start cooking for supper soon enough.

Michonne looked at Hope who was sitting with her chin on her arms and her arms folded on the table.

"Did you want to talk to me?" Michonne asked. "Or is staring at me more what you're in the mood for right now?"

"She's going to spend her whole day with Paul again," Hope said, not lifting her head from her arms.

Michonne nodded her head.

"I hope she will," Michonne said. "I hope that—they work this out. I know they will, but I hope it's sooner rather than later. I hope you got something out of listening to that, too. Maybe we should've been even _more_ open with you guys about things."

"The whole thing sounds pretty unnecessary," Hope said.

"As far as unnecessary things in life go," Michonne responded, "it's one of the most worthwhile."

"Hear, hear!" Carol called from the kitchen.

"You've never felt any of the—interest?" Michonne asked.

Hope sighed and finally bothered to lift her head from the table, though she acted like her skull had suddenly taken on great deal of weight that her neck wasn't accustomed to supporting.

"Of course I have, Mama," Hope said with a little boredom behind her tone. "But—not for that. I mean for that but...not for something that you aren't going to _like_. It's not natural to want something you don't like."

"It's not that you don't _like_ it," Carol said, coming out of the kitchen, her hands out in front of her so she didn't accidentally touch anything with her seasoning-coated fingers. "It's that—you have to get _used_ to it. It's a little uncomfortable. And then you settle into it and it's not."

"That," Michonne said. "That's exactly what it is. It's uncomfortable. A little. You know as well as I do that Jude has the uncanny ability to make a mountain out of a mole hill. You remember when she broke her finger last year? She couldn't do anything for a week and she kept trying to convince Alice she needed the poppy serum for the pain. Jude is Jude and, luckily, Paul loves that about her."

"God bless us all when there's a baby to come," Carol called from the kitchen where she'd returned to her work.

"Amen to that," Michonne responded.

"Don't let Jude scare you," Michonne said, turning her attention back to Hope. "You're a lot different than Jude. You always have been."

"You two may go together like peas in a pod," Carol called, "but you're polar opposites. Maybe that's my fault."

"Maybe it's nobody's _fault_ ," Michonne responded. "People are who they are. Everyone's personalities are different." Michonne licked her lips and smiled at her daughter. "Did Isaac come to see you earlier?"

Hope rolled her eyes at Michonne.

"Yes, Mama, I reckon you know he did," Hope said. "You seen the flowers."

"And?" Michonne asked.

"And what, Mama?" Hope asked.

"Was he just bringing you flowers or?" Michonne pressed.

"And we're listenin' to music tonight," Hope said. "William said they're picking up by the circle. We're goin' up to listen."

Michonne smiled, more pleased than she might have imagined she'd feel.

"A date?" Michonne asked. "Courting?"

"Listening to music right now," Hope said. "That's all I said it was. Nothin' more'n that. Listening to music and then walkin' home together."

"Just please tell me you're being nicer to Isaac than you're being to me right now," Michonne said.

"I ain't done nothin', Mama," Hope responded, getting up from the table. It was clear that her interest in the conversation was done. She started to walk past Michonne and Michonne reached out a hand and caught her daughter's arm, stopping her forward steps. Hope looked at her.

"I know you're nervous," Michonne said. "Your Daddy? Hope—you're so much like him that it almost makes me mad. He sulked and stomped and...he didn't know how to handle it. But when it came down to it? What made him mad was that he was scared—scared he wasn't going to get what he wanted. Scared he was going to be disappointed." Michonne shook her head at Hope. "He had to stop the sulking to let me show him that I wasn't going to disappoint him. We're all scared when we start a new relationship. Every single one of us. And we all handle fear in a different way. Remember that. Isaac's probably just as scared as you are. If you care about him? Give him a little bit of a fighting chance? He might surprise you."

Hope's features relaxed. Michonne felt some of tension leave her daughter's arm as she held it.

"We're just listening to music tonight, Mama," Hope said, her tone softer and less defensive than before. "We're talking about the rest. But like you said to Jude—forever is a long time. We can take it slow."

Michonne smiled at her daughter and nodded her head. She squeezed her arm gently before she released it.

"You do that," Michonne said. She held back the urge to tell her just to be sure not to take it too slowly. After all, they had to let them stumble through this on their own, however that might happen.


	14. Chapter 13

**AN: Here we go, another chapter here.**

 **I hope that you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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Zeb's decision to be announced for courting—to be introduced into adult society—had almost been made _for him_.

His family members had often talked about love as something that happened to you. You came down with it the same as someone came down with a cough or a fever. Seemingly well one moment, the next you might find that you were in love.

There was a moment, as he understood it, when you looked at someone and you simply _knew_. This is my mate. This is the person that matches me. This one was made for me.

That was how his father had explained it to him as well. His father had explained that he'd spent a long time looking for his mother and that the oddest part of it all was that he'd never realized he was looking for her—not until he _found_ her. Then all the pieces had simply fallen into place. His life had come together.

She had made all of his dreams about what life could be into reality.

That was love.

It was finding the person who completed you. It was finding the person who could make your dreams reality. It was finding the person that you wanted to walk through the world with until there was no more world left to walk through.

Zeb couldn't recall when that moment had happened, though, and he was certain it was because the moment had happened so long ago that his memory had simply failed to record it. He'd failed to realize the significance of it when it had happened. It _had happened,_ though. He was sure of that.

Maybe it had happened the first time that he'd helped Lela climb the tall tree in what had been, at that time, the corner of the Highland Settlement. She'd smiled down at him, from several feet above him, and she'd told him everything she could see—like the extra height allowed her to see such a great distance.

Maybe it had happened the first time that she'd given him a kiss at the creek because he'd caught the most fish that day and she'd declared him a hero—the one that was _providing_ for all of them. His fish would barely have fed the two of them alone, but Lela had made him feel like he'd caught enough fish for a feast.

Maybe it had even happened the day that she'd knocked him on his ass in front of everyone during training because he'd suggested that girls just weren't meant for wrestling quite like boys were—and then she'd helped him up when she'd suspected that his pride was sufficiently wounded.

When the moment had come to pass, really, mattered very little. What mattered was that it _had happened_ , and Zeb knew that it had.

Lela was the most beautiful girl in the whole of the Highland Settlement and Zeb included in that number every one he hadn't seen from any of the other Holds.

She was a good deal shorter than Zeb. She was thin framed and her skin was darker than Zeb's though its hue was more of a golden color than his own. Her hair was straight and long and black as the night when the moon hid itself out and took the stars with it. Her eyes were almost as black as her hair and her nose turned up just at the end like the tips of the noses on the bats that they chased out the rafters of the barn when they played there.

Zeb was set on marrying her.

Together they'd have four kids—because his father promised him that it was the perfect number as far as kids were concerned. They'd have two boys and they'd have two girls as was proper. And one day, when he was older and Carl had decided to step down, Zeb would take over as the leader elect of the Central Hold of the Highland Settlement with Lela by his side.

So when Lela had decided that she was ready to be announced for courting, the decision had effectively been made for Zeb. He hadn't thought about it. It hadn't troubled him when it would happen or how it would come about—Lela being his wife—because he'd simply known that it would happen. But when she'd mentioned that she was set to be announced, Zeb had known that the time had come.

It didn't matter if she was making eyes at the other boys-now-men that had been announced. It didn't matter that she laughed at what they said and showed them her teeth in wide smiles. Lela was meant to be his wife. She was his match. His mate. She wouldn't ever do for any other just the same as no other would do for him.

And Zeb could be patient. Patience, after all, was one of the first things that his father had taught him. The only way to get what you wanted—whether it was a string of fish heavy enough to weigh you down or the biggest buck for the feast table—was to be patient and wait for everything to be in just the right place at just the right moment.

Zeb could wait on Lela to be in the right place. He could wait for whatever she needed him to wait for. He might not have patience for some people, but for Lela, Zeb could have the patience of a saint.

"I don't wanna sit that close to the fire, Zeb," Lela said. "We'll smell like smoke through three baths if we do."

"Cold out," Zeb reasoned. "You move much farther away from it and you gonna be cold all night. Didn't bring no cloaks and no blankets. Besides—them logs they moved up here's got termites. You don't want termites crawlin' in your girl parts. They do an' nine months from now? You liable to have a baby that's half-termite and turns out worse'n a Walker."

Lela rolled her eyes at him. She glanced back toward the logs where some people were already gathering. William and a couple of the others who liked to practice their music in the evenings for the enjoyment of everyone else were already warming up. They were playing Black-Eyed Suzie and they'd keep the song going on a round for a little while before everyone got settled and started making requests. Those not inclined to sit were already starting to dance, laughing at the dances that they made up while they waited.

Lela, for her part, started to bounce in place with the music and Zeb smiled to himself.

"Don't seem to me that'cha wanna sit no way, Lela," Zeb said. "What's say we just dance a little? Warm up that way?" Lela kept watching those that were making their way up the hill and finding a spot that suited them. She didn't look at Zeb until he wrapped his hand around her arm, tugging it to get her attention. When she looked at him, it was with a furrowed brow.

"You didn't even bring me no flowers, Zeb," Lela said.

Zeb laughed to himself.

"What you talkin' about?" He asked.

Lela pointed her finger in the direction of a couple of the young girls-now-women that were coming on the arms of those that had brought them courting for the evening. A few of them had flowers all ripped up out of the fields around the settlement. Lela tipped her head to the side.

"The nice thing to do if you was takin' me courting would be to at least have showed up with some flowers to supper," Lela said. "But here I am—probably the only girl here that didn't get none for courting tonight."

Zeb looked around. Lela clearly wasn't the only girl not holding flowers. He had sneaking suspicion, though, that it wasn't right for him to point that out. He also had a sneaking suspicion that he ought to hold back on letting her know that it was dumb to pick the flowers in the first place. All they did was die once they were picked. Then they were tossed out to turn back into fertilizer for future flowers to grow from—future flowers that would be ripped up out of the ground and forced into wilt before their time.

Zeb knew these things to be true, but he also knew that it probably wasn't in his best interest to say such things to Lela.

Women liked the truth, but they liked it with limits.

Zeb sighed.

"Look, Lela, I'm sorry I didn't get'cha no flowers," Zeb said. "I'll get you some tomorrow."

"Maybe I won't want 'em tomorrow," Lela said. "Maybe I won't want 'em when I have to tell you to go and get 'em. It's not much of a gift if I've gotta tell you that I want it."

Zeb shrugged his shoulders.

"That seems like the best kinda gift there is to me," Zeb said. He laughed to himself. "Somethin' I'm sure you want then. Go and get it for you 'cause you want it—that seems like the best way to do things."

Lela rolled her eyes at him again.

"You don't know nothin' about ladies, Zeb Dixon," Lela said.

"You might be right about that, Lela," Zeb ceded. "But I didn't get'cha no flowers for tonight. Didn't know you'd want 'em. Didn't know that—everybody else would be havin' 'em. Can we not worry about it for tonight, though? They're just warming up and I know you want to dance. Can we just dance a while? And maybe—worry about the flowers tomorrow?"

The corner of Lela's mouth twitched slightly upwards.

"You seem to think there's even going to be a tomorrow," she challenged.

Zeb considered his responses carefully. Finally, he settled on the one that he wanted to use.

"There's always a tomorrow, Lela," Zeb said. "Until they just ain't no more. Ain't for me to know if that's comin' now or later, so I'ma keep right on thinkin' there's a tomorrow until there ain't." He raised his eyebrows at her. "You gonna pout with me all night? Waste a perfectly fine night when the mosquitos aren't set to carry us off? Or you gonna dance with me?"

"Maybe I'll dance with somebody else," Lela said. "Somebody here don't need someone to tell 'em that they oughta be nice to the girl they chose for courting."

Zeb chewed his lip, swallowing down the frustration that he could feel growing in his belly.

He was no stranger to that, either. He wasn't fool enough to believe that it didn't happen—even when you'd found the person that you were going to love forever. He'd seen his parents walk away from each other—each headed in a different direction—to put half the settlement between them long enough for them to cool down.

He nodded his head at Lela.

"That'll be fine," he said. "If that's what you've got a mind to do. You dance with who you want. It's your choice. You won't be sour, of course, if I do the same thing. Find me someone to dance with who doesn't seem to worry so much about what I didn't do. Some _lady_ here that's pleased enough to dance—and wouldn't mind me tellin' her that if flowers is what she says she wants, I'll get 'em for her, even if I don't have 'em on me right now." He licked his lips to keep himself from smiling at the expression that crossed Lela's face. "Get her whatever she wants. As much as she wants. All she's gotta do is ask me nice." He shook his head at her. "You ain't the only girl around here Lela. There's plenty enough here that'd be happy to dance with me. In fact? Right now? Girls outnumber the boys by almost three to one. Know for a fact that Jo over there? She come up here alone. So if you got somebody you'd rather dance with—I don't have no intentions of standin' in your way."

Lela stared at him. She'd lost any expression that she was wearing before. Zeb couldn't read her face, but he felt like that was telling enough.

She'd dropped whatever it was that was making her feel like she had some reason—or even some need—to be difficult. She'd returned to neutral ground.

"You wouldn't do that, _Zebulon_ ," Lela said. Her tone of voice didn't suggest she was as sure about that assertion as she wanted to be.

"If it's what you want," Zeb said with a shrug. "I told you Lela. I'll always give you what'cha want. That don't stop just because it might not be something I want. Is it what'cha want? Me to let you just go and dance with whoever you got an eye for and I'll just—go see who wants to dance with me?"

"You aren't being very nice, Zeb," Lela warned.

"It's you who ain't bein' nice," Zeb countered. "I was just askin' you to dance. Or to sit by the fire with me so you don't get cold. Was you that decided we'd be better to part company and find someone else to pass the evening with."

Lela frowned at him.

"I don't want to spend the evening with nobody else," Lela said.

Zeb smiled at her.

"Me either," he said. "But I don't want to spend it with you bein' sour neither."

Lela sighed.

"I just wish you'd think of things yourself instead of needing me to tell you what to do," Lela said.

Zeb nodded his head.

"I'll work on that," he offered. "As long as you work on bein' a touch more agreeable."

Lela gave him a warning look, but Zeb decided to accept it. He didn't back down from his request any more than she'd backed down from hers.

"You still wanna dance?" Lela asked.

Zeb made her sweat it a second. Just as she'd regarded those gathered, he looked around. Then he offered her a smile.

"Only with you," he finally responded.


	15. Chapter 14

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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Hope loved the way things _smelled_. She always had. She loved the smell of the smoke that rose off the fire. She loved the way the smell got trapped in her hair and anything she might be wearing. She loved that it followed her around even after the fire burned out. Hope loved the smell of food cooking and she loved the smell of the wind and everything it carried with it. She even loved, much to the teasing of the other children, the smell of the animals and the fertilizer that they spread over their fields to yield more food.

And Hope loved that people had scents. She loved that everyone in her life smelled differently. Each of them had their own unique fragrance. Some of them smelled naturally more pleasant, by anyone's standards, but Hope appreciated even the more caustic scents of some people because they were unique and identifying.

Hope loved the way that Isaac smelled—though she'd never tell him that because he'd probably tease her for it.

He usually smelled faintly of the lye soap they used. He smelled, sometimes, like the barns where he worked. He smelled like cedar and pine and hay. He smelled _earthy_. It was a warm and comfortable smell. And it surrounded Hope as she sat next to him on log with his blanket wrapped around the both of them to ward off the chill that the breeze brought with it.

Hope had almost one thought about love—and what love should be—to go with every single blade of grass that grew in springtime in the Highland Settlement. But she still wasn't sure what she believed to be the _absolute truth_ about love. Isaac seemed much more confident in what he thought about the emotion.

Isaac was usually confident—though not really boastful or proud like Zeb could be at times. He was calm. He was constant. And he was quietly confident. And that extended to all things, it seemed, with Isaac. Love wasn't an exception.

Wrapped up in the blanket with him, his body warm against hers, with his arm across her shoulder, Hope wasn't sure that what she felt at that moment was love, but she wasn't sure it wasn't, either.

"You want me to ask William to play something?" Isaac asked.

"Hmmm?" Hope hummed at him.

"You haven't wanted to dance," Isaac said. "You want me to ask William to play something else? Something you wanna hear? That snake song you like?"

Hope hadn't been paying any attention to the music. To be honest, she could barely hear it over the sound of everyone enjoying themselves. She could barely hear it over the rumble of the thoughts in her own head.

"I don't wanna dance," Hope said.

Isaac laughed.

"You _always_ wanna dance, Hope," Isaac said.

"Well I don't tonight," Hope said. "So I reckon that just wrecks your whole set of ideas about me, don't it? I don't got to dance just 'cause there's music."

Isaac sucked in his breath the same way he might try to suck something up through a straw. He smiled at her.

"I can see whatever I done to make you so sore hasn't wore off yet," Isaac said. "You still keeping it a secret from me? Or—you think I might be able to cash in on the fact you've been telling me your secrets for years to get one more out of you?"

Hope sighed.

She looked around her at everyone that was gathered there. All of them were dancing. They were having a good time. They were enjoying everything—the music, the fire, the _courting_.

It was supposed to be one of the happiest and most hopeful times of their lives and Hope felt like she was the only one who was having a hard time feeling as _thrilled_ as everyone else. She _wanted_ to feel excited. She wanted to feel giddy and bubbly and overjoyed.

But she just didn't.

She felt more like she was always on the verge of throwing up. And she had only just started, during a quick ride she took before dinner, to work through what it might be that was making her feel that way.

Because it _wasn't_ Isaac. He was tangled up in the middle of it, but it wasn't Isaac.

"It's too loud here," Hope said. "A body can't hear their mind think with all the goin' on."

"It's circle," Isaac said. "It's supposed to be loud. That's what everyone came up here for. I thought that's what we came up here for."

Hope stared at him.

"You wanna talk to me or what you want?" Hope asked.

Isaac stood up so fast that Hope might've believed that something had bit him on his ass, but he didn't do any flapping around to say that she was right. Instead, he offered her a hand.

"We'll go where you want," Isaac said. "Anywhere you want, Hope."

"Just away from here," Hope said. "Away from everybody. From all this. Where it ain't so loud."

"Then that's where we'll go," Isaac said. He waved his fingers at her. Hope started to hand him the blanket instead of taking his hand and he waved it away. "You take it," Isaac said. "Chilly out here. Wrap it around your shoulders. You'll catch cold if you don't."

Hope laughed to herself.

"And what about you?" She asked. "Ain't you just as likely to catch your death of cold?"

Isaac smiled at her and offered her his hand again. This time she took it and let him help her to her feet, even though she was more than capable of standing up herself.

"I'm not as worried about me as I am about you," Isaac said.

"You sound like your mother," Hope said.

Isaac dropped his arm around her shoulder and pulled her into him, walking away from the circle with her.

"There are worst people I could sound like," Isaac said. "So I'll take that as a compliment."

Hope swallowed down his words.

"I'm not sure I meant it as anything else," Hope ceded.

They stopped walking, only for a moment, when they heard one of Isaac's sisters yelling out his name. When they stopped, Hope turned to look back, just the same as Isaac, to see Noelle trotting up behind them.

Noelle was just on the cusp of being a woman. There was probably a solid year of age between herself and Jonathan, but there wasn't much more than that. She was thin as a pole and had the most orange hair that Hope had ever seen on anyone. The girl was freckled to the point that the pale skin that showed between her freckles could have almost been mistaken for freckles.

And she was following them as they walked away from the circle to put some distance between themselves and everyone who had come to enjoy the music, the dancing, and the comradery.

"Where you going, Isaac?" Noelle barked out as she neared them.

"For a walk," Isaac said. "Go back to the circle."

"You comin' back?" Noelle asked.

"If I do, I do," Isaac said. "If I don't—you get the idea."

"You were supposed to walk me home," Noelle said.

"You're a big girl Noe," Isaac responded. "I got a feeling you can find it. If you can't? Tag along with Zeb. For sure he's goin' the same place soon as he leaves Lela at the Rhee house. Chey might be up there too. Though I ain't seen her since supper. Jonathan's probably up there. He'll get'cha home if you was to get lost along the way."

Hope stifled her laugh at Isaac's tone of voice. He and his siblings made their family number the largest in the Highland Settlement and Isaac was the oldest boy among them. Many of them seemed to think that made him responsible for taking care of them, like he was just a step below their parents and Hope's parents.

"Mama's gonna worry," Noelle pointed out. "If she don't know where you are."

"She'll know," Isaac said. "Because you'll tell her. But even if you didn't? She already knows. Mama _always_ knows. Right now she can prob'ly sense us walking farther away from the circle. So you best get on back."

Hope laughed to herself.

"Just keep an eye open for _Walkers_ ," Hope teased. "You know how they like catchin' people wanderin' around alone at night, Noe. Just look for Zeb. He'll see you get home alright. And I know he's up there."

They left Noelle to sort through her possible crisis over having to walk home, unescorted, and they continued on down the hill. Hope walked in silence beside Isaac until they'd cleared half of the distance between the creek and the barns. Isaac drew her out of her quiet contemplation then by speaking to her.

"You gonna talk to me?" He asked. "Or are we just walking? Because I'm not objecting to either one, but I'd kinda like to know what's going on with you."

Hope sighed.

"And if I was to tell you that I really don't know?" Hope asked. "Not for sure?"

"Then I'd ask you at least what you're thinking might be the case," Isaac said.

"Jude got married," Hope said.

Isaac laughed to himself.

"She did," he said. "We were all there."

"You seen her since?" Hope asked.

"Here and there," Isaac said.

"That's my point," Hope said. "She just up and disappeared from the world. Like she ain't even a part of it no more. Like we don't exist. Don't nobody but Paul exist now that Jude got married."

Isaac laughed again.

"They're newlyweds," Isaac mused. "That's what they're supposed to do. A week, ain't it? Two, maybe? They're supposed to rely on each other. Spend time in each other's company. No work. No worries. Just—time lovin' each other. It's the same after every wedding. Then—they'll come right on back and it'll be just the same as it's always been."

"Except it won't," Hope said. "That's the thing. It ain't never gonna be the same again. Jude's never comin' back to our house, Isaac. She ain't never comin' back to mine and her room. Same as Adelae. And it's lonely without Jude."

Isaac found some humor in that statement as well, though he let out a hum to try and cover up his amusement.

"One thing our house ain't never been is lonely, Hope," Isaac said. "Why you think Daddy built all them extra rooms? It weren't because there was too much room, it was because there wasn't _enough_ room. More people live in our house, Hope, than live in like four of the other houses around here all added up together."

"And I can still feel lonely," Hope said.

Isaac stopped walking and turned Hope around, physically, to face him. He rested his hands on top of the blanket that she wore over her shoulders like a cloak.

"And that's why you don't want to talk to me about courtin'?" Isaac asked. "Because you feel lonely? Because—as I understand it? That's what courtin's really about. It's about findin' that one person that makes it so you don't never feel lonely again, Hope. That one person that's always there, even if everybody else were to up and go away."

"What if you're still lonely with that one person?" Hope asked. "Isaac—I don't like to sleep alone. And I don't sleep good when it's quiet. I like bein' alone some, but I don't wanna live just all by myself. What if just two people ain't enough to keep the lonely out?"

"Then we'll have children," Isaac offered. "A dozen of 'em. However many you want. Whatever you want, Hope? That's how it'll happen. Whatever makes you happy. Unless—it's me that don't make you happy. Is it me that you're scared won't make you happy?"

Hope sucked in a breath and let it out.

"How do you know it's me that'll make you happy, Isaac?" Hope asked.

He shrugged his shoulders. The moonlight didn't do much for making his expression visible to Hope, but she could tell he was smiling. She could _feel_ it.

"Because you're the only girl I ever _wanted_ to make me happy," Isaac said. "The only woman. I love plenty of women in my life, Hope. Mama, Mimi, my sisters—but you're the only one I ever loved _this_ way. You're the only one that—when I think about buildin' that house up there in the corner? You're the only one I've ever imagined there. With me."

"Do I make you happy now?" Hope asked. "Even—scared as I am?"

"You always make me happy," Isaac said. His tone changed slightly with his next words. "Even when you make me—want to run around screaming and make me want to throw things because I can't figure you out? You make me happy, Hope. But it'd make me even happier if you'd tell me what you're scared of. And if you'd tell me what I can do to fix it."

Hope growled to herself.

"Kiss me," she said.

"What?" Isaac asked.

" _Kiss me_ ," Hope repeated.

Isaac laughed.

"You think that's gonna fix whatever you're scared of?" Isaac asked.

"If I don't know what I'm scared of," Hope reasoned, "then I don't know what's going to fix it. But—it's worth a try as much as anything else. Unless—you don't _want_ to kiss me."

Hope had barely gotten the words out of her mouth before Isaac had ducked his head and brought their lips together. Hope had been the one to give Isaac every kiss they'd shared before. She'd been the one to bring their lips together and to decide when she was ready for them to stop touching. This time, Isaac was the kisser and Hope was the receiver. And when Isaac kissed her, it wasn't quite the same as the pecks they'd shared here and there. It was rougher. It was like he was trying to make up for all the kisses that Hope had ever cut short and ended before he was ready to let them go.

And Hope enjoyed it, even if it wasn't quite what she imagined it would be and even if she wasn't sure they were even doing it right at all.

"You feel less scared now?" Isaac asked when they pulled apart.

"Maybe," Hope said.

"You think you could be—not lonely?" Isaac asked. "If I was to build us a house big enough for us to have—as many children as you could want?"

Hope licked her lips.

"What if I don't make a decent Mama," Hope said. "Some people don't, ya know. I might not neither."

"I'm not worried about it," Isaac said.

"You don't worry about nothin'," Hope offered, unable to keep herself from smiling at him even though she wasn't really in the mood for the smiles he seemed able to force out of her.

"Not too much," Isaac said. "But that's because—I know that you'll do enough of it for the both of us. Probably enough for all our children too."

"Speaking of worrying," Hope said. "You gonna walk me back home before Caw comes out lookin' for the both of us?"

Isaac laughed and gestured in the direction of the house. When they started back toward it, he dropped his arm over Hope's shoulder again. She reached her hand up, this time, and held onto his fingers loosely while her other hand kept the blanket from sliding off.

"This mean we're courting?" Isaac asked. "Like official like?"

"Why you always gotta put a name on everything?" Hope asked.

"I don't care how slow you need us to move, Hope," Isaac responded. "Not as long as I know we're movin' in the same direction. Knowin' we're officially courting? It lets me know you're moving right along with me. Going where I'm going. I'll let you set the pace, but at least let me know where we're headed."

"Fine," Hope said. "We're courtin'."

"Official?" Isaac asked.

"What other way was it gonna be?" Hope asked.

"Good," Isaac said. "That's good."

Hope laughed to herself.

"That's all you can say about it? That's good?" Hope asked.

"What else do you want me to say?" Isaac asked. "It's good. That's what it is. What I was hoping to hear from you. Are you happy saying it?"

"There's so much stirred up inside of me," Hope said. She let her words fall off for a minute before taking them up again. "But—I think I am."

"I'm happy hearing it," Isaac said. "Just so you know," he added with a little hesitation, drawing the words out before continuing, "I'ma start building that house, Hope. Right up there in the corner. Right where I always said I was gonna build it. I want you to know so—it don't scare you or whatever. I'm just building it because, no matter what? I've always known it was gonna get built. You can just—see it while it comes along. See how you like it. You don't have to make any decisions or anything. Just—see it as it comes along. You just might find that the idea of living there, with me and however many kids you want, makes you feel just a little less scared about the whole thing."

"And about the feeling lonely?" Hope asked. "You ain't gonna say nothing to nobody else about that, are you?"

"Never," Isaac said, raising the hand that Hope didn't have possession of to draw an "X" across his chest. "You know I don't tell your secrets, Hope. But—now that you've told me that? And now that we're officially courting? I'm gonna make sure you don't ever feel lonely, Hope. Not if I can help it."

Hope hummed.

"But you still gotta allow me room to breathe an all," Hope said. "I said I didn't like feelin' lonely, not that I don't never like bein' alone."

Isaac laughed and pulled Hope a little tighter against him as they walked.

"Don't worry, Hope," he assured her. "I know that too. I know everything about you."


	16. Chapter 15

**AN: Here we go, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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There was always something to do. Isaac enjoyed the keeping busy because it meant that he never got bored. He never had to wonder what he might do or if there'd be enough to keep his day full and occupied. The work only ended because he decided it was time for it to end—not because he ever ran out of things that needed doing.

And Isaac loved the satisfaction of looking at a job well done and knowing that with his hands and with his mind, he'd made something happen. He took as much pride in a patched roof for someone as he did in a freshly built barn for their ever-growing herd of horses.

His father had taught him that. There was pride to be taken in a job well-done, no matter the size of the job.

His father had taught him a lot of things. In fact, Isaac assumed that his father would never run out of things to teach him. And he also assumed that every lesson he learned well was probably a job that his father took pride in just the same as any other.

"Courting is serious," Tyreese declared.

"I know that, Daddy," Isaac responded.

"It's a responsibility," Tyreese said.

"I know that too."

"With courting, you're declaring your intention to marry Hope," Tyreese said. "You're declaring your intention to—love her. To care for her. To nurture her and give her the support that she needs in this world. And, with time, to provide your children with all that they need."

Isaac laughed to himself and waded into the creek to wash off the sweat and dirt that he'd collected through the morning.

"I know that too," he declared once more. "And I mean it, Daddy. Every word of it."

"It means you're to expect the same," Tyreese continued. "Hope has a responsibility to you, as your wife and partner in all of this, to care for you too. To give you what you need. It's not one-sided."

Isaac hummed his agreement and washed his face thoroughly with the water that seemed cold all year, whether or not the sun was blazing hot.

"But that doesn't mean you take advantage of it," Tyreese said. "Sometimes you'll give more. Sometimes she will. But it's—it's a partnership. There's push and there's pull. It only works if you're both dedicated to it."

"I'm dedicated to it," Isaac said. "And I'm livin' with believin' that Hope'll come around to it once she settles a bit."

"And if she doesn't?" Tyreese asked. Isaac looked at his father, not quite sure how to respond to the question, but already certain that there was more to come. "You have to know how you'll handle that too, son. A woman can push every button you've got and even some that you didn't know you had. You have to think about those things."

"If she don't," Isaac said, "then I'll just give a little more. I've got plenty to give, Daddy. And you know I don't tire too easy."

Tyreese laughed to himself. He slipped off the bank into the water to wash himself off in the same manner that Isaac was doing. He sucked in a sharp breath at the unexpected cold of the water. Isaac laughed at his reaction and Tyreese slapped the top of the water so that it splashed over Isaac. It had no effect on him, though, because he'd already adjusted to the cold.

"Then tell me this," Tyreese said. "You two aren't—doing anything else, are you? Besides courting?"

Isaac felt his face run warm.

 _The talk. Again. This time with purpose and reason beyond information._

That's what everyone called it—when you came to about the age of twelve or thirteen they first started the conversation with you. You already knew about it by then. You'd already become aware of it, but they'd never sat you down to actually discuss it with you and remove any remaining mystery that might surround it. They would tell you it was something that you might feel drawn to do. Maybe you wouldn't. But whether you did or you didn't, you needed to be aware of it and you needed to know what it meant—on all levels.

Sex was not something that they hid, though Isaac had been told that in the Old World it had been something that people kept to themselves. Now it was something that people talked about regularly and openly. It was something to be celebrated among happy couples. Not talking about it really drew more attention and concern than openly discussing it.

"We're not married yet," Isaac said.

"I'm aware of that," Tyreese said. "But that wasn't what I asked you."

"That's the rule, right?" Isaac responded. "Wait until you're married. You and Mama waited?"

"That was a different time," Tyreese said. "A different place."

"Different standards," Isaac said with a laugh. He got something of a warning look from his father.

"If you want to know," Tyreese said, "the first time that I was with your mother? I already knew that I was devoted to her. She was in my head and she was in my heart already. I knew that I wanted to know her in every way possible. And I wanted to be with her for however long we had left. She wanted to be with me. That was all that mattered then. We didn't say public vows until a long time after that, but we'd handled our promises privately—and many times over. There weren't vows, but there was intent."

"But you weren't married," Isaac pointed out again.

"And we were a lot older," Tyreese said. "And a lot more aware of what sex means. Do you know why we tell you to wait until you're married?"

Isaac searched his memory. He was sure he'd heard a reason why they were supposed to wait until they were married, but he couldn't quite bring it to mind. He shook his head.

"Because children could come from it," Tyreese said. "Maybe you and Hope have to wait for a child. Maybe it takes time. Or maybe it happens right away. The first time you're together. Imagine that you don't wait until you're sure you're dedicated to a relationship and you're devoted to a woman. She bears you a child and you're not happy with her. Now you're both young—with a child between you—and you've got even more to navigate. Coming from the Old World? Your mother and I both brought a lot of our old lives with us to our union. We were ready to work through that together. So we were ready to handle the responsibility of a child if that were to come from it. And, as you can see, children _did_ come from it."

"Not all born of Mama," Isaac pointed out.

"But loved and cared for no less than you and Cheyenne," Tyreese said quickly. "Your mama didn't have to carry your brothers and sisters in her body for us to carry them in our hearts. You know that."

Isaac nodded his confirmation.

"But if I know I'm not going to change my mind about Hope," Isaac said, not feeling that he had to finish his statement.

"Then you still wait," Tyreese said. "Because until Hope Dixon is ready to say vows? You don't know that she won't change hers. Courting is a declaration of intent, not a promise."

Isaac laughed to himself.

"I get it," Isaac said. "And—we're not doing anything. If you need to know the details? We just kissed last night for the first time as a courting couple."

A smirk came across Tyreese's lips. He raised his eyebrows in Isaac's direction.

"But you've kissed before?" Tyreese asked.

"A couple times," Isaac said. "Here and there."

"And you've thought about more?" Tyreese pressed.

Isaac shrugged his shoulders and shook his head.

"To be honest—I've thought about more kisses," Isaac said. "But no, Daddy. I ain't really thought about more'n that. You made it clear that nothing else comes until marriage. It's just one step forward at a time until then. Want to build that house. Just like I said I would. Want to show it to Hope so she sees the home I'm planning on giving her. Sees I'm serious about making it everything she wants it to be. I'm keeping myself focused on building the life that we're gonna live together. The rest'll come as soon as she's ready to step into that life."

"You got a good head on your shoulders, son," Tyreese assured Isaac. "But I'm only warning you because I know that sometimes it gets harder than you know to let that head lead the way. You start thinking with other parts of your body. Some things start to feel more urgent and more important than the things your good sense tells you to focus on."

"That might be so," Isaac said. "But you've never dealt with Hope before."

Tyreese laughed to himself.

"No, I haven't," Tyreese said. "Not in any way but as family. And I know her Mama and her Daddy well enough to only imagine what you're getting yourself into. But it's not just Hope. Every woman, Isaac, comes with her own set of difficulties to navigate. Every man, too, for that matter."

"You and Mama don't never have no problems," Isaac said.

Tyreese hummed at him.

"And don't think that there haven't been years of work that you haven't seen or paid attention to that's gone into that," Tyreese said. "Same with Daryl and Michonne. Any couple you see around here that makes it look easy? There's a long road of hurdles behind them that you didn't see them jumping. Just because you didn't see it, doesn't mean it isn't there. But—there's another reason I tell you not to get into anything else with Hope until you're married."

"Besides the babies we want but you're not sure we'll be able to handle?" Isaac challenged. He got another warning look. If he wasn't careful, his father would soon inform him that he'd been born with his mother's mouth. It wouldn't be the first time, either, that he'd heard it.

"Besides it or twisted up with it," Tyreese said. "You can rest assured that if Hope was to come up pregnant before she's said her vows? Daryl Dixon would do his best to kick your ass over every square foot of this settlement. And—really? There wouldn't be a thing that I could do to save you because I've warned you and you didn't heed my warning."

Isaac worked his way up out of the water and shook the water from his head to make sure that it didn't settle down into his ears.

"I'm not so sure that Daryl could kick my ass," Isaac challenged.

"Maybe not," Tyreese said, starting out of the water. "But I'm sure he'd try."

Isaac laughed to himself.

"You realize you're wasting your breath, don't you?" Isaac said. "I already told you. Me and Hope? We're gonna do everything right. Everything according to tradition. Right now? I'm just set on startin' on that house and getting her to agree to marry me. Besides—she ain't lookin' for nothing else, Daddy. She's about jumpy over marriage. Rushing into things she oughta not do is Hope's style, but I got a feeling that it don't extend to coupling things."

"And that's good to know too," Tyreese said. "And you should respect that." He waded out of the water himself and stood dripping next to Isaac. "If she's the woman that you've chosen to be your mate? Your partner in this world? Then you owe her respect in every way possible. And one of the most important ways you respect her is in respecting her body. When you're married, anything that makes you both happy is fine. It's respectable and healthy and good between you. But when you marry? Your body becomes hers and her body becomes yours. You wouldn't want anyone doing something to your body that you didn't want or care for. You should feel equally bothered that anything would happen to hers that she didn't want. More than that? You absolutely should _never_ be the one to do anything to her that she doesn't care for."

Isaac sighed and shook his head.

"I won't do anything," Isaac said. "Never have. Never will. Don't worry so much, Daddy. I know my job. I know all of 'em. Pretty well, actually."

Tyreese put his hand on Isaac's shoulder.

"I know you do," Tyreese said. "But it's _my_ job to make sure you hear these things and understand them. So you're gonna hear them. At least once. Just don't make me ever have to repeat them again."

Isaac nodded his head.

"I understand," he promised. "Now—you gonna help me start clearin' for my house or I gotta round up my own crew?"


	17. Chapter 16

**AN: I'm back! Did you miss me? (Probably not, but I missed you. And I missed our story, too.)**

 **Since it's been a while, I'll remind you of the preparations that were taking place a couple of chapters back where they were loading a wagon. You never found out what that was about because this chapter was going to let you know what was happening. So here's where you'll find out.**

 **No worries, there's much, much more to come about everyone in the story, but this is a full story. That means there will be all kinds of things that go on here. This gives you a little bit more information about the settlements and sets us up for some things to come in the future (or starts setting us up).**

 **I hope that you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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"I'd do the trade on my own," Carol said. "But I can't drive the wagon and keep up with the stock and the trade has to happen today."

"It's happening today," Carl responded. "Absolutely. I sent riders out this morning. But they can wait a couple of hours. It's just that everyone's _busy_ right now."

"Then they get unbusy," Carol responded. She shook her head. "There's no rescheduling this. When the Snowbirds come through they'll be expecting us. The rider's already been sent out. If we're not there? They'll think it's something personal."

"She's right," Michonne said quickly, stepping up and practically stepping into the middle of the conversation that she'd been able to overhear for more than a few feet as she'd been walking toward them. "We can't just not show up to a trade. It's likely to cause some kind of negative feelings that we just don't want to deal with. Nobody wants to go to war over a misunderstanding."

Carl laughed to himself.

"The Central Hold hasn't been at war for a long time, Michonne," Carl said.

"And we'd like to keep it that way," Michonne responded. "You do a fine job handling things, but the fact of the matter is that you sometimes forget just how it easy it is for us to end up going to war. It could happen. Today or tomorrow—it could happen. But what it's not going to happen over is something stupid. Nobody's doing anything that's so important it can't be put on the back burner long enough to make the trade. I'll ride out with Carol. We'll take Isaac to drive the wagon and Matthew can lead the stock."

Carl tipped his head to the side and smirked at Michonne. She forgave him his smugness because of the affection she felt for him, but it didn't mean that she didn't feel a deep seated desire, from time to time, to tell him how much he reminded her of his father—or to remind him that being like his father had both the chance of making him a great leader and the chance of leading entirely to his undoing.

"And here I thought Emma was the first lady," Carl said.

"You can take the queen off the throne," Michonne said. "But she'll still be the queen when her people need her. Emma made a foolish call saying that we'll reschedule the trade. She should know by now that there's no such thing as rescheduling with a group that's migrating. If she doesn't know that? She's got some lessons to learn still. Go get Matthew. We'll get Isaac and ready the livestock."

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The Snowbirds had a settlement in the north. The area had once been called New York, but now it was simply the northern territories. Twice a year their people made journeys back and forth to the Southern Hold of the Highland Settlement. Michonne, herself, had never been to the Southern Hold, but she knew that it lie somewhere, theoretically, between the Carolinas and Georgia.

The trade between all the groups had long since been something they'd all relied on. When one group planned to pass through, headed somewhere else, they sent a rider ahead to let the other group know that they wanted to meet for a trade. They brought their goods and everything they had to offer and they traded for the things that they needed. Each settlement with which the Central Hold traded had goods to offer that weren't easy, or even possible, to come by in the other settlements.

The trade between them all had been a way of cementing their relationships and keeping friendships blooming between all the settlements. The promise of needed and desired goods helped keep people from feeling the need to flex their muscles and go to war.

Missing a trade, especially after a rider had been dispatched to arrange it, could be seen as a purposeful snub. If there were truly a tragedy—a fire that threatened their whole community, for instance—then a rider could be spared to go to the meeting place and apologize for the inability to trade at the time. Just to fail to show up, though, would definitely not settle well.

Carl Grimes knew that, or he should. Emma Grimes, his wife, should know it too. And Carl should also know that simply looking around and seeing that everyone had found something to be occupied with didn't mean that they couldn't pull someone from their work to make the trade. The work would always be there. It always had been and it always would be.

But Carl was young and he was still relatively new at his position. He still had a great deal of learning to do. Michonne could forgive him his mistakes, but she wasn't going to let him make big ones if she could see them coming in advance. Still, as a show of faith in Carl and his abilities, she took his oldest son, Matthew, on the trade with them so that the young man would get some experience in the practice.

The trades were really Carol's area of expertise. Truth be told, she could've handled them all on her own if she were capable of moving the large quantity of "things" that needed to be taken to each meeting. She was the one that kept up with the inventory and she was the one that negotiated for what they needed and wanted. She hadn't let them down yet, so Michonne was content to let the woman handle the whole affair.

They'd been waiting, still atop their mounts, for probably an hour before the Snowbirds came into view. They travelled slowly down the road. The ones who were going south now would remain there for a while, though another group would almost immediately pass through on their way back north. Since they were carrying supplies for themselves and for others, the group moved a large amount of things and people in a long caravan of wagons and horses.

Finally seeing them approaching, Carol swung down off her horse and then walked over to catch Michonne's horse's bridle and hold the animal while Michonne dismounted. Then she walked the two animals back to the wagon and tied them there. Both of them were well trained enough that they'd have stayed put if she'd simply tied to them to a stick on the ground. They'd have believed themselves, because Carol took the time to tie them, held in place by something no larger than Michonne's pinky finger.

"Ositsu?" Carol called as the leader of the Snowbird caravan drew the line to a halt a good distance back and then rode his horse the distance between them.

"Osiyo," he responded as he approached. He dismounted from his horse and Michonne saw something flicker across Carol's features. "We got held up. Dead."

"We haven't seen Walkers for a year," Carol said. "Not in numbers worth mentioning."

The man looked behind him, glancing back over his shoulder.

"Ride that direction for a half a day," he said. "And you'll see all of them that you want. We lost at least a dozen cows."

Carol smiled at him.

"Good for you, then, that we brought half a dozen with us," Carol said.

The man glanced in the direction of the wagon and the livestock. He rocked on his feet, leaning his body, to get a better look at the livestock that they'd brought for trade.

"And not a single foal fit for the saddle," he said. "I expected no less from you, Carol. You're rumored to have the best trained horses around but nobody can ever get a mount that's broke to test the truth of that."

"Not for some shabby skins," Carol said. "You bring me something worth a trade like that and I'll ride back myself to get you a mount."

The man smiled at her. Michonne hadn't been to many of the trades, but she got a feeling that this wasn't the first time that Carol and this particular man had done business together. The man, for his part, barely even glanced in Michonne's direction. He didn't know her. Maybe he had no reason to know her. After all, she didn't know him. The settlements were all so large that it was possible to not be too familiar with people within in your own settlement. Those that populated the other settlements were little more than strangers who had some kind of allegiance-based tie to you.

The man dampened his lips with his tongue.

"It's been a long time, Carol," he said.

Carol's smile wasn't sincere. Michonne wished she could take some sort of time out to ask the woman what she was thinking. She couldn't, since that would be rude and draw attention, but she did pay attention to the weight of the blade that hung on her back, reminding herself that it was there should she need it.

"Not quite long enough, Xavier," Carol responded. "What'd you bring for us?"

The man furrowed his brow at her.

"Just like that?" He asked. "You don't even want to finish exchanging conversation? If I didn't know any better, I would think that you weren't interested in exchanging conversation with me."

Carol stared at him, hard. Michonne didn't miss the strong hold of her eyes. By now Michonne felt like she knew the woman as well as she knew herself and she could practically feel what Carol was feeling. Though she didn't know what it was, exactly, she knew that she didn't care for it.

"What did you want to talk about?" Michonne asked, breaking the awkwardness between the two of them. "Is everything well in the north?"

The man, Xavier as Carol had called him, glanced at her. He smiled and raised his eyebrows.

"The Safe Haven is strong," he said. "We grow ever stronger each year. More people are born into our home every year. More come from elsewhere. We can't complain with the progress. I assume that the Central Hold still stands?"

"Stronger than ever," Michonne said. "Like you, we enjoy seeing our numbers ever-expanding. Our allies, too."

Xavier wasn't interested in Michonne. He wasn't interested in Isaac who sat on the wagon. He wasn't interested in Matthew that stood some distance off with a large number of leads that helped him tug along the livestock that was fairly content to simply follow the wagon and graze in the field. Xavier only seemed interested in Carol and Michonne had no idea why.

"It's brave of you to come out here, with so many Snowbirds on the move, alone," Xavier said. "Brave or foolish. Who's to say that we wouldn't just ignore the binds of our allegiance? Overpower the four of you, take everything we want, and leave you to be the first Walkers that the Central Hold sees in a year?"

He smirked at both of them and Michonne tried to get a read on the man. She didn't feel like he was serious, not exactly, but she did feel like he was trying to get a rise out of her companion. If he got a rise out of her, though, Carol didn't let it show. She simply smiled back at him.

"Because you're not that foolish," Carol said. "Or that brave. We're not alone." She shook her head gently. "Those mountains? They're held by the Mountain Folk. Our allies. Our very _close_ allies. A few years ago we decided that it would be a good idea to have a little more insurance on these trades, just in case someone without much integrity were to be handling a trade. We're not alone. I assure you."

Xavier glanced in the direction of the mountains in question. They were a small range of mountains, and some of them were actually pretty hidden by the patch of trees that had grown a great deal since Michonne and her family had first settled in the region. He glanced back at Carol.

"Some mountain men from the fairy tales would swoop down out of the mountains to save you all right now?" Xavier asked.

Michonne heard the echoing call of a bird. Another lonely bird answered its call.

Michonne knew that they weren't birds. Carol knew it too.

"Not exactly," Carol said. She raised her hand. The widening of Xavier's eyes was the only sign that said he'd even had any awareness of the arrow that slid past his face, almost close enough to nick the end of his nose, before it planted itself in the ground just beyond him. He glanced at the arrow and Carol laughed to herself. "The next one doesn't miss," Carol said. "The Mountain Folk are kinda touchy that way. They don't like to offer more than one warning."

Isaac, having left the wagon in light of everything, walked up behind Carol and put his hands on her shoulders.

"Everything alright, Mama?" Isaac asked.

"Yours?" Xavier asked. Carol nodded. Xavier laughed to himself. "The last time I saw you, you were hiding behind your mother's legs."

"Things change," Isaac said. It was clear that, though he might have met the man before, he didn't remember him at all. He was protective, though, of his mother and that much must have been obvious to Xavier because Michonne didn't imagine that anyone could miss the warning in Isaac's stance.

"Let's make the trade, Xavier," Carol said. "In brotherhood and good faith."

Xavier laughed to himself again and offered a hand in Carol's direction. She looked at it before she took it and shook it.

"I know the skins are your favorites," Xavier said, his air changing entirely. Carol's air lightened too and Michonne let her guard down a little—but only a little. "We made sure to pack extra of them. There's some real nice ones. I know you're going to want them all."

"We'll just let me be the judge of that," Carol said.

"Come have a look?" He asked, gesturing a hand to invite her toward the wagon that sat with the group at some distance from them. Michonne thought there was a touch of challenge in his tone. Carol shook her head at him.

"You just bring your wagon over," she said.

Xavier chuckled and raised a hand in the air. He waved and the person who was driving the wagon in question flicked the reins to move the creaking vehicle forward.

"You've always been a challenge," Xavier mused.

"I always will be," Carol responded.


	18. Chapter 17

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here. There's much, much more to come.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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"Are you saying he raped you?" Michonne asked.

Carol turned on her quickly and hissed out at her.

"Keep your voice down!" She barked, barely following her own instructions. "And don't put words in my mouth. That's absolutely not what I'm saying."

"I wouldn't have to put words in your mouth if you'd do a better job of putting them in your own mouth," Michonne responded. "Exactly what happened?"

Michonne had wasted no time in dragging Carol up to her room and closing the door behind them when they'd gotten back from the trade. She'd demanded, alone with her friend, an explanation for the awkwardness that had hung in the air between Carol and Xavier.

Carol sighed. She scratched at her forehead. She shook her head. She took her time getting around to telling Michonne anything beyond the couple of started and stopped words that she'd already told her, but she knew there wasn't any escaping until Michonne had an answer.

"It was probably years ago," Carol said. "It doesn't even matter anymore."

"It matters," Michonne said.

"Nothing happened," Carol said. "Nothing like that. It was before we put things in better order. It was back—back when the trades were a lot less organized than they are now. A lot less formal. After the Southern Hold was pretty established and the pass was really getting safe for frequent travel. The back and forth was really starting to pick up. We were just getting used to doing more trades then. It's been what? At least since Yoka was small."

"What happened?" Michonne asked again.

Carol shrugged her shoulders.

"It was just a trade," Carol said. "Just one wagon. I went on my own. Something was going on and nobody could go with me, I remember that much."

"I remember it too," Michonne said. "It was when that grass fire was burning. We tried to get you to send someone to cancel the damn thing. You insisted on going anyway."

Carol laughed to herself.

"And that's the exact reason that I didn't say a thing about it when I got back," Carol said. "When I got back and—you asked me what happened? I told you the trade went fine. I told you that I ran into some trouble with some Walkers and that's what everything else came from. I fought them off and put them down. If I'd told you what really happened? Every one of you would've just blamed me for it. You'd've said I deserved it for going out there alone."

Michonne's stomach churned. She still wasn't a hundred percent clear on what had happened, but she'd get the information eventually. For a moment she was simply focusing on what it was that Carol was saying to her.

"Wow," Michonne mused. "We're really assholes in your head, aren't we?"

"You wouldn't have said anything?" Carol asked. She laughed to herself. "And I'm asking that as an honest question, Michonne. Not just the answer you want to give me. What would you really have said?"

Michonne nodded her head. Maybe she'd say and do things in the heat of the moment that she'd like to think, several years down the line, she wouldn't do.

"What happened?" Michonne asked. "I'm not going to judge you. You know that, Carol. You know the things you carry for me and the things I carry for you. I'm not going to judge you. I might've, then, out of being—something. Out of being scared or even hurt _for you_. But I won't now. Tell me what happened."

"It's nothing like you're making it out to be, Michonne," Carol assured her. She softened her tone and her features the way that Carol always did when she was trying to soothe over Michonne's feelings. It was something Michonne had learned to count on. Carol was the only friend she'd ever had that would do everything in her power to soothe Michonne over a papercut while she, herself, was busy trying to hide the fact that she'd severed an artery. "I went out on the trade. It was the first time I ever saw Xavier on the trail. He was the one driving their supply wagon. He met me and we shook hands. We exchanged news of the north and the Central Hold. He invited me into the wagon to see what he had to offer and—then he tried to take advantage of the fact that I was there alone." Carol shrugged her shoulders like it was something that happened every day or, if it didn't happen every day, like it was something that they should anticipate happening with regularity.

Michonne didn't want a world where her children would think that something like that was to be expected. She didn't even want a world where her best friend would think that she should simply be "OK" with such a thing. That wasn't the world that they'd put their lives into building.

"You stopped him?" Michonne asked.

Carol nodded her head.

"I don't know if you remember it," Carol said. "I came back—a little worn over. A little bloody."

Michonne nodded.

"The Walkers," Michonne said. "I remember. I was the one who checked you for scratches."

"You found some too," Carol said.

"They weren't Walker scratches," Michonne said.

"I said they were from the wagon," Carol said. "Got caught on something sliding down. When he came at me, I fought him off. When he didn't stop coming? I pulled my knife. I didn't gut him, as you can see, but I can guarantee you he's got a pretty good scar. Just to remind him."

"Sounds like he might not be the only one with scars," Michonne said.

"We've all got scars," Carol said.

Michonne nodded her head. It was something they all said often. They all had scars. The scars were part of the reason that they'd chosen the traditional "dress" that they had for their settlement. Everyone wore their scars proudly. What they were once ashamed of was now meant to be a badge of honor. Scars were physical signs of the battles that you fought, and won, in your life.

There were scars, though, and there were scars. Not all of them were visible, no matter how much of their clothing they removed.

"If I'd have known," Michonne said, "I would've gutted him myself today. Isaac too. You can bet that Beau wouldn't have missed that shot, even though you ordered him too."

Carol shook her head.

"It doesn't matter," she said. "What's done is done. And killing someone at a trade wouldn't be good for us."

"It wouldn't be bad for us if it was common knowledge _why_ he got killed," Michonne said quickly. Carol frowned at her. Michonne sighed, her chest tight with the new information that she was processing. Information that was old news to Carol. "Did he hurt you?" Michonne asked.

Carol shook her head. She offered Michonne a soft smile that was meant to soothe her.

"Nothing that couldn't heal," Carol assured her.

"Nothing that hasn't healed?" Michonne asked.

"I don't hold onto things like I used to," Carol said. "The memory is still there, but the pain isn't."

"Something was there," Michonne said. "I saw it on your face."

"Something was there," Carol agreed. "Maybe I just don't know what it was."

"You didn't tell Ty?" Michonne asked.

Carol shook her head.

"If I'd told any of you, you would've been angry with me because you didn't have anyone else to be angry with," Carol said. "You would've tried to take me off the trades. You would've acted like I couldn't handle them. I didn't want you to take that away from me."

Michonne shook her head, but she honestly couldn't protest what Carol was saying. She liked to believe it wasn't true, but she recognized that there was an element of truth there.

"You've got to tell Tyreese," Michonne said.

Carol shook her head.

"If I tell him? He's just going to want to talk about it. And if we talk about it?" Her voice caught. She shook her head at Michonne and Michonne understood exactly what was behind the gesture. If she talked about it too much, and especially with Tyreese, she might end up letting some of it out. She might have to admit that it upset her more than she was letting on and that she'd been carrying it around, buried deep down inside, for maybe as long as five years.

"That's exactly why you've got to talk to him," Michonne said. "Tears heal. And I've yet to see anything wrong with you that Tyreese couldn't heal better than even Alice. Besides—we can't keep this between us. We've got to tell Carl. We've got to send a rider out to the Southern Hold."

Carol's eyes went wide and she shook her head.

"No!" She protested. "No! We're absolutely not telling everyone!"

"We absolutely are!" Michonne said. She thought, for just a moment, that Carol might actually strike her in protest. It wouldn't be the first time that the woman had raised her hand to Michonne, but it would be the first time in a long while. Michonne prepared to block her if necessary. "He's headed to the Southern Hold and they need to know what kind of man he is. They need to know what they're dealing with. If he tried that with you? You weren't the first. You won't be the last. A man who thinks he can do something like that? He's a man who doesn't have respect for anyone. They need to know that. The north too. The Safe Haven needs to know. This is a man who shouldn't be going on trades. He shouldn't be working the trade route at all. This is a man who doesn't deserve to live among civilized people."

"Do you know how _humiliating_ that would be for me?" Carol asked.

"It shouldn't be," Michonne said. "You're the victim. He tried to take advantage of you. You fought him off."

"And if I hadn't?" Carol asked.

"But you did, right?" Michonne asked. "You're not lying about that."

"I'm not lying," Carol said. "But it's still humiliating."

"There's nothing to be ashamed of," Michonne said. "But we have to be open about these things and we have to let the others know. If we let this kind of behavior slide, then it continues to slide. Before long? It becomes something that's commonly happening. What about when Jude takes over? You know one day she wants to take over inventory and trades. That means one day it's Jude that's out there. You want her to go out there _expecting_ something like that to happen? You want her feeling like she should expect it to happen and then she should just accept it and swallow it down? Let it fester for years? That's what you want?"

Carol shook her head.

"You know it isn't," Carol said.

Michonne nodded.

"I do know," Michonne said. "I do know. And if anybody's got anything to say? Carol—it could've been _anyone_. It could've been me. If I'd taken the wagon out by myself that day it could've been me. This wasn't about you. It was about Xavier. It's the kind of man that he is. And that's the kind of man and the kind of _thing_ that we don't allow. He's counting on you not telling. That's where he gets some power. Because he knows that—if you told? He'd already be dead by now. Everyone has to know. The Southern Hold has to know by the time he gets there."

Carol nodded her head.

"It's still—it's embarrassing," Carol said. "It's humiliating."

Michonne reached her arms out. At first Carol pulled away from her, but then she sank into the hug that Michonne offered her. Michonne rubbed her hand over her friend's back. It was her turn to be the one who soothed. She stayed that way for longer than was necessary until she felt Carol actually start to truly relax into the position and accept the comfort that it offered.

"You're too thin," Michonne said. She laughed to herself. "I can play knick-knack-paddy-whack on your backbones. For Ty's sake we need to feed you. He's a big man. He deserves a little meat on his bones. Something to really sink his teeth into."

Carol buried her face in Michonne's neck and left dampness there, but she laughed at the teasing.

"I don't want everyone to look at me as _that_ woman," Carol said. "But—I also don't want Judith to feel like she isn't safe when she takes over the trades for me. I don't want her not to _be_ safe when she's doing the trades."

"It's a service to the community," Michonne said. "She ought to feel safe doing it. You've got to tell. There has to be a trial. And—Xavier has to be a reminder to anyone who might've forgotten the rules. The bravest thing that you can do right now is tell the truth and—make sure that we keep order. It's coming. The time for them all to take over is coming. The bravest thing that you can do is take a step in the right direction to making sure we're leaving our children something we can be proud of."

Carol pulled away from Michonne and Michonne used the palm of her hand to wipe away a few stray tears that had leaked out of the woman's eyes. She smiled at her.

"Those are good," Michonne said. "Good to see. Alice always says they have the ability to heal better than almost any balm. Are you going to let me tell them? Let Carl send some riders out? Make sure that people are reminded that we don't tolerate this sort of thing?"

Carol nodded her head.

"Just—let me tell Ty first?" Carol asked. "Before news travels?"

"You're going to tell him or you want me to?" Michonne asked.

Carol laughed to herself.

"I think it's the kind of thing that he ought to hear from me," Carol said.

"You want me to come with you?" Michonne asked.

Carol shook her head.

"You can tell Carl," Carol said. "Whoever else you need to tell. Let me tell Ty. I know how to handle him."


	19. Chapter 18

**AN: I'm assuming that if you've read my other two stories, then you know how I handle this saga. There's a lot that will happen here (that's already planned out), but there's a lot of character development/world building/etc. that goes into things. Don't worry, we'll get around to all kinds of events in this story, we're just getting there one piece at a time. If you're not hearing from your favorites right now, you will, but feel free to always ask me about people. If I don't have something planned for them soon (or at least a check-in), I'll make sure you get something.**

 **Here's another chapter.**

 **I hope that you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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"Carl's done what he can do," Daryl said. "Gettin' worked up over somethin' done and in the past is a waste of energy. There ain't no taking it back now. A rider's headed for the Southern Hold and one's headed up to the Northern Safe Haven. Ain't nothin' to do now but wait until we get word."

"That's easy to say," Tyreese said, "when it isn't you that's waiting to find out what's going to happen."

"You know what's gonna happen," Daryl said. "The only thing you don't know is the how or the when."

"What is gonna happen?" Hope asked.

Michonne sighed. The house was always crowded, but at the moment it felt a little more crowded than usual because everyone was crowded into the living area and the air that surrounded them was tense. It always felt like there was more room in the house when everyone was happy and everything was grand. When things weren't quite as upbeat, it could feel like the walls were closing in on them all.

"A trial, Hope," Michonne said. "That's what'll happen."

"We ever had one before?" Hope asked.

Daryl laughed quietly. He was sitting on the end of the couch and Hope was perched on the arm of the couch next to him. He reached a hand over and patted her leg, letting it settle there. He moved her leg around affectionately, wiggling it back and forth.

"Plenty," Daryl said. "All different kinds before we settled on how they was gonna be officially done. Had to come up with something to keep peace among all the territories. But there's been plenty. Just you was too young to really remember too many of 'em. Maybe you remember 'em but you didn't know what was going on. Been a long time since anybody come up to trial for a serious offense."

"How does it happen?" Hope asked.

They all exchanged glances. When it seemed like nobody was actually going to answer the question, Michonne took it.

"It's not that complicated," Michonne said. "Xavier is accused of an attempt to sexually assault your aunt. He's headed for the Southern Hold. When he gets there, they'll have news of what happened. They can try him there, since they're part of the settlement, but they'll likely bring him here. Another rider has gone to the northern territories to let them know that Xavier has been accused of a crime that's punishable by death. Anyone that wants to speak for him is welcome to come and do that. Wherever the trial is held, your aunt will be there. We'll be there too. She'll speak on her own behalf and we'll speak for her character. The council will hear everything and they'll make a decision."

"And then when he's guilty?" Hope asked.

"If he's found guilty," Carol said, stressing the word "if" like she didn't believe that the man would be found guilty, "then he'll be put to death."

"If you say he's guilty, Mama, he's guilty," Isaac said.

"He's gonna be found guilty," Daryl said.

"He might not be," Carol said. "I've really got no proof."

"You know where the knife wound is that you gave him," Michonne said. She shrugged her shoulders. "The Northern people are always fully covered. You'd have no reason to know what his body looked like or to know that the scar was there if you didn't put it there."

"You and I both know there are ways they can spin that," Carol said. At the moment it seemed that any true emotional turmoil she felt over the situation had long since been worked through. Now the thing that was troubling her most seemed to be simply that she'd be involved in a trial.

"What happens if he don't get found guilty?" Hope asked.

"He goes free," Michonne said. "That's it. He goes free. He's released of guilt and he goes right on back to doing what he's been doing."

"And I become known as someone who just might accuse you of a crime punishable by death," Carol said.

"It's not like you walk around accusing people of things every day," Michonne said. "And you can bet it's going to be told that I was the one who pushed you to bring it to the council's attention. You're not alone in this. Not at all."

"It comes down to character," Daryl said. "We're speakin' for Carol. Everyone knows Carol. From the Save Haven to the Southern Hold and every damn where in between, there ain't hardly a soul that don't know Carol or hasn't done business with her. Who the hell even knows this guy? Chances are they come scramblin' out the woodworks against him now that he's been accused. That likely weren't his first or last attempt at something. Man like that? He's thinkin' he's above the law. They'll come now that it's out. You can almost bet on it. He ain't gettin' off."

"He couldn't be that far," Isaac said. "The whole group's moving for the season, so we know they don't move too fast. A quick horse could overtake the whole lot of 'em by tomorrow. Let me ride out and stop him. We'll bring him back here before he ever gets to the Southern Hold."

"You will not!" Carol said quickly.

"You won't," Michonne seconded, immediately sensing that someone might accuse Carol of simply being too overemotional at the moment. "It isn't safe."

"I'll take someone with me," Isaac said. "Better we get him back here and get it done."

"Gotta give time for the rider to get to the Safe Haven," Daryl said, "and to get back with whoever's comin' on his behalf if there's anybody that'll bother with the trip to try to save his neck. Give 'em time, too, if anybody wants to come to second what Carol's said. At any rate, we gotta have word that there ain't nobody comin' before they'll try him. Might as well wait for the Southern Hold to tell us how they wanna handle things."

"Besides that," Carol said, "you're not overtaking a group on the pass. It isn't safe."

"She's right," Michonne seconded. "The pass is too remote to overtake anyone. You don't know how they could react and we wouldn't know what happened until it was too late. It's better to let things happen the way they were designed to happen. When we created this system, we did it so that things would be as fair for everyone as possible. We're not going to be the ones to break the rules that we put in place. This secret has kept for years, it'll keep for a little more time."

"She's right," Carol said. "There's no rush. And no matter the outcome? It is what it is. Nobody's doing anything stupid or foolish. It doesn't change anything." She pointed her finger at Isaac and then dragged it through the air to let it land on Tyreese where he sat in the chair, the arm of which Carol was using for a seat, with their youngest daughter on his lap. "I mean that. Nobody's doing anything stupid. I'd rather drop the whole thing first. Besides—we've got far more important things to worry about. It's courting season. It's time to focus on getting ready for winter and I've got to prepare for trade with the group moving back to the northern territories and with the Southern Hold. If they're coming up here for a trial, you can rest assured they'll want to trade while they're here. Plus there are things to arrange with the Keepers and the Mountain people now that the weather's warmed up."

"Your mother's right about one thing," Tyreese said with a sigh. "There's plenty to keep us busy until the trial. And it won't get done if we stay up all night talking about this." He stood up, heaving Yoka up in his arms as he rose, and Carol got to her feet to follow him. "Jenny? Eli? Let's go to bed. The rest of you would be smart to do the same."

Michonne watched as Carol and Tyreese gathered together their children and pushed them toward the back of the house where they'd make sure that everyone young enough to still try to stay up all night went to bed. Then Michonne got to her feet.

"They're right," Michonne said, directing her words at Hope but meaning them for everyone else that was there. "There's nothing to be done tonight but to get some sleep. There will be a trial, but it'll be weeks from now. Life goes on in the meantime."

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"What's it like out there?" Michonne asked the moment that Daryl made it into the bedroom.

She was sitting on the edge of the bed, waiting on him.

"Kids are asleep," Daryl said. "There ain't a sound the first comin' from downstairs. I didn't go in and check on nobody, but there ain't nobody stirring about."

"And next door?" Michonne asked. She was referring to their neighbors across the hall and Daryl knew that. He could barely recall a time in his life when at least part of his day wasn't somewhat tied up with the life that Carol and Tyreese shared.

"They up," Daryl said. "I could hear 'em talking."

"Fighting?" Michonne asked.

"Don't sound like it," Daryl said. "Just talking. Don't even sound heated."

He sat down on the bed next to Michonne and worked his way out of his shoes. He unknotted the leather strings of his clothing and tossed the garment toward a chest that Michonne had put at the foot of the bed to hold anything they might want to store. Daryl didn't know if there was much of anything in there except for maybe a few of their winter items and the warmer weather garments that hadn't been put into use yet. The leather garment missed the chest and fell to the floor, but Daryl didn't care enough to retrieve it. He'd just be putting it on the next morning, so it didn't really matter to him where it lie in the meantime.

"Ty's upset," Michonne said.

"Yeah, well, I would be too," Daryl said. "You didn't tell me about some shit like that for this many damn years?"

"She's right," Michonne said. "It would've been his word against hers then, just like it is now."

"And just like now," Daryl said, "he'da been killed for what he done because you know he done it. The rules are simple. There's shit we don't tolerate. Some things might get you a slap on the wrist and get you told to do better, but there's some shit that just ain't acceptable. We start lettin' some of that shit fly and we're setting ourselves up to be no damn better'n animals. You start thinkin' you can just lay into somebody because you got a mind to fuck 'em and it stops being civilized."

Michonne laughed to herself.

"We're a long way from civilized sometimes," Michonne said.

"We're a lot damn closer to it than some people," Daryl said.

"She thought we'd take her off trades," Michonne said. "She went out there alone and she thought—we'd say that it was proof she couldn't handle trades."

"She handled trades before, she's handled trades since," Daryl said. "Long as there's been trades, it's been her that's handling them. I don't reckon we're taking her off the trades until she retires from 'em. She'll be the one teaching Jude if she takes 'em over. She's the one handling the training for everyone who thinks they've got a mind to take over her role. I don't think anyone would pull her off trades because she happened to cross paths with someone who don't deserve to be part of any our fine and upstanding communities." Daryl laughed to himself. "Hell—even Beau and his people don't act like that. If it ain't allowed in the Mountain community? It shouldn't happen nowhere. People like him wanna live like that? Let him be part of the nomads like all the others that can't follow the community rules."

"Ty should go easy on her," Michonne said with a sigh. It was clear she was worrying over it. She had a tendency to worry over things that she couldn't do anything about from time to time. Daryl didn't think there was much need to worry, though.

"Don't lose sleep over it, 'Chonne," Daryl said. "Ty was upset, but it weren't Carol he was upset with. Not really. And they don't sound like they fighting. Sounds like a whole lot of not fighting. Just talking. I imagine his feelings are just hurt he didn't know sooner—he didn't get a chance to say nothin' to her sooner about the whole thing. I'm sure that's all it is. He's sayin' now what he woulda said then if he'da known about it."

"Are you hunting tomorrow?" Michonne asked after she let a moment of silence pass between them while she chewed over Daryl's words.

"You know I am," Daryl said. "If I don't? The deer population will overrun us for sure this year. I figure I'ma take Zeb out. It's about time he and I had a good long talk. He's seeming pretty serious about Lela Rhee and I think we just need to talk about it before he goes and gets hitched to her before their courting has even begun good."

"A good long talk between my two of my favorite men. More than likely about the birds and the bees," Michonne teased. "I'd love to tag along for that."

"Not this time," Daryl said with a smirk. "Just me and Zeb this time."

"What are you going to tell him?" Michonne asked.

Daryl shook his head.

"Don't know yet," Daryl admitted. "Not exactly. I'll figure it out while I'm going. Just—wanna talk to him about marriage, you know? Make sure he knows what to expect. I think he's already got an idea about some of it, but I want to make sure he's thought about all of it."

Michonne raised her eyebrows at him.

"The good, the bad, and the ugly?" She asked.

"Something like that," Daryl said.

"Have I given you a lot of the bad and the ugly to talk about?" Michonne asked. She smirked at him.

"Not a whole lot," Daryl teased. "I might let Ty handle that part of the conversation with him. He'd know more about it than I would."

Michonne frowned at him.

"Their marriage isn't bad, Daryl," she said. "It's a little messy in spots, but it isn't bad."

"I'm just joshing," Daryl said. "Zeb and Lela would be doing good if they were as happy as them across the hall." Daryl smiled at Michonne. "They'd be downright blessed, though, if they were to do as good as us. But I don't want him going out there expecting miracles."

Michonne smiled warmly at Daryl, but then she quickly replaced her expression with the smirk that let Daryl know that she was in the mood for playing and teasing—and that was never a mood that he minded.

"Miracles, huh?" Michonne asked. Daryl nodded his head. "Why don't you come to bed and I'll see if I can make sure you go out there with some fresh thoughts about how good married life can be?"

"I guess we can do that," Daryl said. "But you just makin' my job harder if I'm going out there tomorrow to remind our boy that it ain't always sunshine and roses. Want him to be realistic, after all. You don't wanna make me forget all that."

Michonne laughed to herself.

"No worries," Michonne assured him. "We won't worry about it tonight. And tomorrow? We'll put our heads together over breakfast to come up with at least a few things he needs to know. We want to prepare him, after all, for everything he's getting into when he asks for the hand of a Rhee."


	20. Chapter 19

**AN: Here we are, another chapter.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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"Yoka—I already told you to go to bed. Nobody needs that much water in a couple of hours. Your bedroom isn't the desert. You won't thirst to death before morning."

Hope smiled to herself when she heard the sound of her aunt's voice. She carefully closed the bedroom door behind her so that none of the sound would bother Cheyenne, and she eased her way down the hallway, stepping over the small part of the floor that she knew always creaked with weight on it.

"It ain't Yoka," Hope said, her voice low, as she stepped into the living room. "It's just me, Caw."

Carol sat alone in the living room. If she was doing anything, she was doing it with no more light than the little bit that the small fire burning low in the fireplace gave off.

"You should be in bed, Hope," Carol scolded. "Now is time for sleeping."

"You don't mind me sayin'," Hope replied, "but it would seem I ain't the only one awake."

Carol laughed to herself.

"I'm older than you," she said.

"And what's that got to do with it?" Hope asked. "Old people don't need sleep? Seems like they need more if you go on how much some of 'em do sleep."

"Something like that," Carol said. Her words were simply to give her something to say. They filled the silence, but really meant nothing. She hummed. "Why aren't you asleep, Hope? Nightmare?"

Hope hummed in the affirmative.

For as long as Hope could remember, it seemed that Carol was up whenever she wanted someone to be up. It seemed like, every time she just needed someone else to be awake without her calling for them, Carol was awake. For a short period of her life, Hope had believed that Carol never actually slept. Then, finally, she'd gathered the nerve when the house was quiet to climb the stairs and tiptoe her way into the bedroom that Carol and Tyreese shared. She'd found, that night, that Carol did in fact sleep. She slept in such a way that Hope had walked all the way around the bed to check to see if she could possibly be comfortable because she slept very nearly buried under Tyreese—all pushed down into a valley that seemed created just for her in the mattress. Hope had gotten too close and Carol had woken up and taken her back downstairs, but at least Hope had known that she did actually sleep sometimes—as long as nobody got close enough to rouse her with their noisy curiosity.

"Come here," Carol said. She patted her lap and Hope laughed at her.

"I'm a bit too big now, ain't I Caw?" Hope asked.

"Never too big for me," Carol said. "Besides—I could use a hug too. Come on."

Hope was sure that everyone would tease her something awful if they saw her as she sat down in Carol's lap and leaned against her body, resting her head against the woman's shoulder, but she didn't figure that anyone else would bother waking up just to see if she was up and loving on her aunt.

It felt good when Carol wrapped her arms around her and somewhat rocked her from side to side. It felt warm in a way that fires and robes never seemed to make her feel. Hope closed her eyes to the sensation for a moment and rooted a little deeper into the woman's body.

"Want to tell me what you had a nightmare about?" Carol asked.

Hope sighed. The feelings that she'd been feeling before, the ones that had kept her stomach churning and had pushed sleep away since she'd gone to bed, felt kind of distant from her now. She almost hated to call them back up to mind.

"Can you have a nightmare if you don't go to sleep?" Hope asked. "Is there such a thing as a nightmare when someone's awake?"

The laugh shook Carol's body and the shaking transferred to Hope.

"You absolutely can," Carol said. "Trust me. I know. I lived in a nightmare for years."

Hope started to sit up, but Carol held her tight against her. She swayed her body, rocking the both of them again, as Hope settled back into her place.

"When?" Hope asked.

"Years ago," Carol said. "A very long time ago. Before you. Before I knew your parents. Before—before your Uncle Ty."

"That's a long time to have a nightmare," Hope said.

"Some people have them for even longer," Carol responded. "Some people—nobody ever helps them get out of them."

"Uncle Ty knows about the nightmare?" Hope asked.

Carol laughed to herself.

"In his own way? He loved me through it," Carol said. "He loved the nightmare right out of me. He made it so—it just didn't matter. It happened. It was over. I survived it, and it just didn't matter. That's how much he loved me."

"Love ain't that powerful, Caw," Hope scolded. "Not to erase a nightmare that could go on for years."

Carol hummed at her.

"That's where you've got a lot to learn, Hope," Carol said. "Love? It can heal a multitude of wounds and illnesses. And it most definitely helps to cure nightmares. What about you? You're feeling better, aren't you?"

Hope thought about it.

"Yeah," she said. "But that's different."

"No it isn't," Carol said. "All I've done since you came in here is love you—and you're feeling better. It's working."

"Uncle Ty—is he mad about what that man done?" Hope asked.

"He is," Carol said. "But don't worry. He's not mad at me or you or anybody else here. He's mad at that man. That's all."

"Possum's mad too," Hope said.

"I know," Carol said.

"I ain't never seen him so mad, Caw. He wanted to take Cricket and go after him," Hope said. "If he'da took Cricket, he'da stopped him 'fore he got to the Southern Hold."

"I'm sure he would've," Carol said.

"You think Possum would've killed him?" Hope asked.

"I think he would've tried," Carol said. "And—if there weren't too many people on Xavier's side? I think Isaac would've killed him."

"He ain't never killed nobody before, Caw," Hope said. "I've never even known him to talk so serious about wanting to kill somebody."

Carol sucked in a breath and let it out.

"Sometimes, when we're angry, we say things we don't mean," Carol said. "And sometimes anger makes us want to do things we wouldn't normally do."

"Ty woulda killed him, too," Hope said.

"He would've," Carol said. "I knew that too. I knew that—your mother would've killed him. Today. On the pass. That's why I didn't tell her."

"You didn't want her to have to kill nobody?" Hope asked.

"I didn't want us to go to war," Carol said. "And killing—if it isn't done in hand with a trial—is a good way to go to war. I don't like wars. People die in wars and I'd rather have all my people here, whole, so I can love them. They're worth a whole lot more to me here than they are in the ground. We might honor our heroes—and we do honor them well—but, me? I'd rather have them alive and well than called heroes and buried."

"Did the man hurt you?" Hope asked.

Carol laughed to herself.

"Don't you know by now, Hope, that nothing can hurt me?" Carol asked.

Hope smiled to herself. She nuzzled her face against the soft skin at her aunt's neck and felt the woman shiver against the touch of Hope's skin on the scars there. They were proof that she could be hurt, but for the longest time she'd sworn that nothing could hurt her. None of them had to worry. If she fell off a horse, she was fine. Nursing a wound from a saw gone rouge didn't mean they had to be concerned. She would promise them, no matter what happened, that she would be fine. Nothing could hurt her—at least not for longer than the few minutes that she might spit profanities at whatever had done her wrong in the first place.

"But did he?" Hope asked. She knew that Carol knew that she didn't believe, at least not really, that she was somehow untouchable. It was just something she said for the sake of children who were given to worry over things they couldn't control.

"That day? He scared me," Carol admitted. "But he didn't hurt me. Not really. He just scared me."

"Why were you scared?" Hope asked. "You thought he was going to hurt you?"

Carol hummed at her.

"I was scared of what I might have to tell your uncle Ty," Carol said. "But—you're too young to worry about it. And it doesn't matter. He didn't hurt me. And your uncle Ty isn't mad at me or anybody else. Not anyone here."

"Are you still scared of him?" Hope asked.

"No," Carol said. "I'm not. Not...not scared of him. He can't hurt me. I'm scared of...I don't even know, Hope. And it doesn't matter. Fears are...most of the time? They're just silly feelings. They don't do anything except, sometimes, show us what we value most in the world."

"What do you value most?" Hope asked.

Carol laughed again.

"You," Carol said. "Your brothers and sister. Your cousins. Your parents. My Ty."

"Family?" Hope asked.

"That's right," Carol said. "The most important thing. Anything and everything else can be replaced. Losing my family—there's nothing I fear more than that."

"Dying?" Hope asked.

"Not even that," Carol said.

"If he comes here—they'll put him to death?" Hope asked.

"If that's what the council decides," Carol said.

"Everybody's sure that's what they'll decide," Hope replied.

"If they decide that, he'll be put to death," Carol said.

"Will you watch him when he dies?" Hope asked.

"I suspect that most of us will," Carol said.

"Will I see him when he dies?" Hope asked.

"If you want," Carol said. "It'll be your choice. Whatever you want to do."

"I think I'd want to see him put to death," Hope said. "If I knowed he hurt you."

Carol hugged Hope a little tighter.

"You do what makes you feel best," Carol said. "Whether you see it or not, he'll die if they sentence him to execution. Sometimes the seeing it brings about closure, so that's why some people choose to see it. Others don't need that."

"You ever see somebody die, Caw?" Hope asked. "Like—not somebody dead. Not like at a burial or like the Walkers. I mean—you ever been there when they died?"

"More times than I care to admit," Carol said. "And—I've killed more people than I care to admit, too. But sometimes we have to do what we have to do."

"That's what he said," Hope said. "Isaac. Possum. We do what we have to do. We protect ours. That's why he wanted so bad to go after that man today."

"It would be an honorable thing to do," Carol said. "But it was too dangerous and it doesn't look good for us to break one law and claim we were upholding another."

"What's the worst death you've ever seen?" Hope asked.

"You mean—the ugliest death?" Carol asked. "Or do you mean—for me? Personally? The worst I've experienced?"

"That one," Hope said.

Carol sighed. She hummed to herself. The sound sounded hollow in her chest.

"When Daniel died," Carol said. "My baby. My little boy that was born with Cheyenne. A death like that? It's a hard one to get over."

"Family," Hope said. Carol hummed in the affirmative. "But you get over it, though."

"You do," Carol agreed. "In some ways. Losing family is hard, but it's family that gets you over the loss. That's how important it is. Are you gonna tell me what that nightmare was about, Hope? What's got you up in the middle of the night?"

"It weren't no real nightmare, Caw," Hope responded. "Not like no—not like the ones where you wake up and you know this awful thing happened that you didn't want to happen and you were all trapped in your head. It was more like—an awake nightmare. I was just layin' there and I was thinking too much. And Cheyenne was snoring and kicking me in her sleep and I just kept thinking that—Jude's all the way on the other side of the community and she'd've known how to get me to thinkin' about other things so I could sleep. And I was thinking about how—Isaac was so mad and I've never seen him so mad about anything ever. It scared me a little."

Carol laughed to herself.

"Jude is still there for you," Carol said. "And it won't be long before she's off her honeymoon and marriage is just part of her life—and not quite as new as it is now—and you're seeing nearly as much of her as you used to. And if you woke Cheyenne up? I bet she'd tell you something funny to change what you were thinking about. As for Isaac? He's got a streak of his daddy in him that's about two foot wide. You don't have any reason to be scared of him, Hope. I can promise you that, but I can't promise you that you'll never see him mad. Maybe, one day, it'll be something about you that gets him that mad."

"It don't scare you to see uncle Ty get mad?" Hope asked.

"No," Carol said. "Because there are different kinds of anger. One kind of anger? When you see it, Hope, you'll know it. And that's the kind of anger that you get away from as quickly as you can. It burns hot and out of control. It eats up the person that feels it and it destroys everything around it. It'll consume you. But the other kind? It's just as hot, but it won't burn you. It's just like the fear—if you pay attention to it, it'll show you something about that person. It'll show you the things that they're most afraid of losing."

"We been training for as long as I can remember, Caw," Hope said. "Training to fight. To protect the Highland Settlement."

"And you're wonderful," Carol said. "Not that I ever doubted you would be."

"But I ain't never killed nobody," Hope said. "I've killed Walkers. Killed animals. And I been trained to kill if that's what I gotta do, but knowing how to do it and knowing that I'll be able to do it? That's two different things, Caw. When I was thinking about watching that man die? I was thinking that half of me wanted to and the other half? It made my stomach wrench up just thinking about it."

"That's good," Carol said.

"What is?" Hope said. "To sit here and—shake in your arms like some kinda baby? Sayin' I ain't sure I can kill somebody?"

"No," Carol said. "It's not that you're not sure you can, it's that you're sure you don't want to. And that's good. That's the way it should be. You shouldn't want to kill anyone. Not ever. But I'm sure, Hope, that if you had to? If you were protecting yourself or someone you loved? If you were fighting for the Highland Settlement? You could kill if you had to. I know you could. I know your heart. I've known your heart since the very first time I held you in a dirty old prison cell. And it's a strong heart—the kind that could do anything for the people you love. But it's also a good heart. And a good heart would never do anything wrong to anyone—not unless they really deserved it. You keep your heart just the way it is, Hope."

"Maybe it was my heart that was keeping me up," Hope challenged.

"Maybe it was mine, too," Carol said. "But there are worse things to lose a little sleep over. Close your eyes, Hope, try to sleep."

Carol rocked her gently again and Hope rubbed her face once more against the skin at her aunt's neck. She breathed in her scent and sighed, feeling like some of the tension that had remained in her body drained out as the breath left her.

"I'm too big for this, Caw," Hope said. "I'm not a baby anymore."

Carol laughed quietly.

"There's nobody awake but us," Carol said. "And you'll always be one of my babies. You can't ever outgrow my lap."

The words were the last ones that Hope heard before, sometime later, though she couldn't be sure when it was exactly, Carol gently stirred her awake and sent her back to her bed to spend the final hours resting there before the sun greeted the world.


	21. Chapter 20

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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The hunting was easy. The hunting was easier than Daryl ever recalled hunting being in the past. The deer population—and most animal populations—was booming. In the spring, especially, Daryl could practically shoot an arrow into the woods without even looking it where it went and guarantee that it dropped a deer. The only reason that he even bothered to go out and look at the animals was because they tried to keep a balance on what they hunted. Does were only hunted certain times of year, when it was sure that they weren't going to have offspring that were dependent on them. Bucks were hunted year round, but if a buck wasn't very old, they'd usually let it live to rut a few more years.

Today, though they already had five bucks loaded on their wagon, and that was all they'd take with them for the day, Daryl's interest mostly lie in a certain young buck that was just getting into rutting. So when they'd gathered enough deer for a good feast, Daryl invited his son to sit with him on the grass in the shade of the flat-wagon.

Daryl offered Zeb a cigarette from the ones he carried and Zeb looked at him with question. Daryl laughed to himself.

"You man enough," Daryl said. "But don't tell your Ma. And if you thinkin' of makin' it a habit? Make sure it's one that don't never get over a smoke or two a day. It'll get away from you before you know it."

Zeb took the cigarette and accepted the light that Daryl offered him. He puffed on it and coughed. Daryl laughed to himself. He didn't say anything, though. He simply rested against the tire of the wagon and puffed on his own cigarette for a moment, surveying the world around them.

This was their world. They didn't build it. It had been there long before they'd gotten there. It had been there long before they'd ever even been born. Still, it was theirs now. And they'd put their lives into making it what it was.

Daryl imagined it was the closest thing to Eden that there was, even though he wasn't at all under the impression that it was perfect.

"So you courtin' Lela Rhee official like?" Daryl asked.

Zeb studied his legs. He had a sudden intense interest in his lap. He only glanced at Daryl, after a moment, to see if he was still looking at him. Then he returned his eyes to his lap.

"I didn't care too much for talking about it at first, either," Daryl said. "When I first started—well, when your Ma and me were new at all this? We kept it between ourselves. Got found out, though. I believe it was your Uncle Glenn and Aunt Maggie that found us out."

Zeb laughed quietly.

"Don't tell me there was somethin' that Caw ain't knowed nothin' about," Zeb challenged.

Daryl laughed.

Carol had the children believing that she was omnipresent and omniscient. She had them believing, honestly, quite a few other things about her too. The myth had come about slowly, but many of them believed her to be almost something extra-human. Of course, Carol was one of the constants in their lives. Even if Daryl and Michonne needed to stretch their legs from time to time and escape the confines of the society that they'd constructed to search out whatever wildness was left in the world, the children could always count on the fact that Carol remained. Daryl was grateful to her, too, for giving the children that. It gave them someone outside of their parents to stand in awe of and, honestly, it made it so that Daryl and Michonne didn't have to worry about their children. They missed them if they were gone for a night or two, but they really didn't miss them too badly. They knew they'd be back, and in the meantime, they had a soft place to land.

"Believe it or not? I don't think your Caw had no idea what was goin' on until it was out," Daryl said. "You might not know this, neither, but before I started courting your Ma? Your Caw had it in her head that maybe one day we might start courting."

Zeb smirked at Daryl.

"What'd Uncle Ty think of that?" Zeb asked.

Daryl laughed.

"That was before your Uncle Ty and your Aunt Carol was a thing," Daryl said. "Long time before it."

"So did you court?" Zeb asked.

"Carol?" Daryl questioned. Zeb nodded and Daryl shook his head.

"No," Daryl said. "Your Caw's a fine woman. Fine. You'd be hard pressed to find one as good as her. But she weren't _mine_. Reckon I knew that then. Maybe we just know it, ya know? You know when a woman is set to be yours and when she just ain't. Maybe I even knew, without knowing it, that it wouldn't be right to court her 'cause she was set for someone else. Maybe she was already set for Ty and he just didn't know it yet."

"Did you know Mama was the right one?" Zeb asked.

Daryl nodded his head.

"Not at first," Daryl said. "Not when I first met her. When I first met her? I was—I just wasn't there. I was thinking that maybe she'd just move on and one way or another I didn't have any interest in her. I was too focused on the rest of our lives and what we were doing while we were just trying to survive."

"When did you know she was the right one?" Zeb asked.

Daryl licked his lips and considered it. He could tell his son a half a dozen possible moments when he had at least entertained the fact that Michonne might be the woman for him. But he wasn't sure exactly which one of those was the real moment when he knew—if any of them really were. He could lie, too, and tell Zeb something purely for the show of it.

He wasn't interested in doing either.

"It was a different time," Daryl said. "And we didn't do things in the order we was supposed to. To be honest? I knew your Ma was the right one for me—she told me she was pregnant with your sister, Hope, and she was scared. But it weren't havin' a kid with me that had her scared. It was havin' a kid in this world. That world, really. The one we knew when Walkers were everywhere and things were just upside down. She was scared, you see, that something would happen to your sister. She was just accepting it as natural that we was having a kid together and that, together, we was just gonna be dealing with getting that kid through the world."

"Would you do it in the right order if you could?" Zeb asked. "Go back and do it again?"

Daryl laughed to himself.

"I'd go back and do anything again," Daryl said, "as long as I was doin' it with your Ma. That's what this whole love thing is really about, Zeb. It ain't about the courting. It ain't about the butterflies in your gut or the flowers that'cha pick for no girl. It's about—finding that one person that you're like...that one right there. I'd walk through hell just as long as she was walkin' with me, and I bet I'd come out just damn fine on the other side."

Zeb blew out his breath and Daryl asked him, with a simple expression and a tilt of his head, what had prompted his response to such an honest description of what he found love to be.

"Lela was so mad about stupid flowers I was just about to find me someone else to court," Zeb said. "Dumbest thing I ever heard. I didn't bring her no flowers to the circle the other night and that made her feel like I just didn't care. But I tried to tell her the flowers didn't matter. They grow everywhere. You want 'em that bad? Just lean down and grab you some."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"That's where you got a lot to learn about women," Daryl said. "The flowers? They don't really matter. But you bringin' her flowers? That matters. See—you bring her flowers, then she's got somethin' that says you were thinking about her. I got a story for you. See—I used to bring your Ma all these pretty little things to wear. Nightgowns and things that were pretty and delicate. Just to see her look pretty in them."

"You mean like the white ones?" Zeb asked.

"Different than them," Daryl said. "But the same idea. These were pretty though. Real delicate." Zeb nodded his understanding. "Your Uncle Ty—well, he never brought none to your Aunt Carol. And one time? She got her feelings so hurt she was damn near nothing but tears over it. You see? Your Uncle Ty was thinking that he didn't have to bring 'em to her because she said that these delicate little nightgowns weren't good for nothing and she weren't gonna get no use out of 'em. But what she was thinking was that he wasn't bringing 'em to her because he didn't want to see her looking pretty in them. Your Ma finally saved your Uncle Ty by giving him some of them gowns to pretend that he did bring 'em to her. He was just waiting to surprise her."

"Why would she say she didn't want them if she did?" Zeb asked.

"That's the other thing you gotta learn about women," Daryl said. "Sometimes? They say what they think you want to hear. You gotta listen real hard to hear what they don't say."

"What if you don't hear it?" Zeb asked. "Like Uncle Ty with the nightgowns?"

"Sometimes you can listen as hard as you can with both ears and you won't hear it," Daryl said. "When that happens? You just do the best you can to fix it. She's got her heart set on flowers? You bring her flowers—and you don't forget that she likes 'em even if she says she don't need 'em no more. You bring flowers anyway because—if she's the woman that'cha want for all your life? You can certainly stop to bring her flowers just to see her smile for a second."

"I got her flowers," Zeb said.

"Did she look pleased?" Daryl asked.

"She gave me a kiss," Zeb said.

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Then that says she musta been pleased," Daryl responded. "You think she's the one?"

Zeb thought about it and nodded his head.

"Gotta be, Daddy," Zeb said. "There ain't never been nobody else I ever thought could be. I've never even thought about courting another girl except Lela."

"You gonna ask for her hand?" Daryl asked.

"I was aiming too," Zeb said.

Daryl nodded.

"You know the right way to go about it, right?" Daryl asked. "You gotta ask her parents. Privately. Just you and them. Then, when they give you the permission to ask for it? You gotta ask her."

Zeb nodded.

"I know," he said. "I just—I gotta get up my courage."

"They won't turn you out. Still, slow down a little," Daryl said. "Don't worry about it right now. Take your time. It ain't a race, Zeb. You'll get there eventually. But once you're married? The courting is done. Maybe you keep kinda courting, but things change once you get married. Then you start having babies. Things start sort of shifting. Enjoy the courting. Be her sweetheart. You got plenty of time to be her husband."

"Don't want nobody else getting there first," Zeb said.

Daryl laughed to himself.

"You're not that different than me," Daryl said. "Once you know you want it, you want it. The only difference is that I think it took me a little longer to get there. But once I was there? I was as good as done. There's no need for waiting around when you can get started on it all right now, right?"

Zeb nodded his head.

"Still," Daryl said, "give it a little time, son. A couple months. At least let the summer start to cool down. You don't want to move too quickly—just in case she ain't quite up to your speed. OK?"

"That's fine," Zeb said. "It'll give me time to figure out what I'm gonna say when I go and ask Uncle Glenn and Aunt Mags for her hand. And what I'ma say to her, too. 'Cause Lela won't accept just on principle if she don't think I done it right."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"You're prepared for that, too?" Daryl asked. "Being married to her and knowing you done got you a woman like that for life? Because she ain't gonna soften just because you married her. She might soften a little, maybe, but she's still gonna be Lela—through and through."

"Wouldn't have it any other way, to be honest," Zeb responded.

"Well," Daryl said. "Seems to me, then, that you're a man who's found what he's lookin' for. You think she feels the same way?"

Zeb laughed to himself.

"I sure hope so," Zeb said. "But—I guess I'm gonna find out."


	22. Chapter 21

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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"Christie, do you mind if I take your Papa off your hands for a little while?" Michonne asked, mounting the steps to the old cabin.

Christelle was every bit as beautiful as her mother. She was tall—a good bit taller than Michonne—and she was lean to the point that it just made her seem that much taller. She was probably old enough to consider courting, but seemed to have very little interest in it. Still, Michonne was sure that one day she'd be a wonderful wife for whoever she chose as a partner. She was a natural caretaker and she practiced her care on her grandparents.

Christelle put down the bowl that she was holding on the small table and stood up. She wiped her hands on the cotton clothing that she was wearing and leaned over to press her lips to her grandfather's cheek with a tender fondness.

"I'ma be back, Papa," Christelle promised the old man. He hummed at her in response and Christelle smiled at the sound. She turned to Michonne, meeting her as she started her descent off the porch. "He ate his lunch, but he didn't finish up the peaches for dessert."

"I'll sit with him," Michonne assured her.

"Where's Nana?" Christelle asked.

"She was down by the creek," Michonne said. "You'll probably find her there."

Christelle bounded off without another word and Michonne crossed across the small porch and took her place in the chair that the young woman had recently abandoned.

"Do you want these peaches, Richard?" Michonne asked, looking at the bowl.

Dick turned his head to look at her. He glanced toward the bowl in question and turned his gaze back to looking out over the porch railing. He hummed at her. Michonne considered the peaches a moment. She picked up one of the slices, tasted it, and licked her fingers.

"They're dry this year," Michonne said. "Not as sweet as they should be."

"Rain," Dick said. Although, if she weren't aware that's what he said because she was so used to these "conversations," Michonne might have dismissed the word as nothing more than noise.

"Rain," Michonne agreed. "There was too much of it this year. The melons paid for it too."

Dick hummed at her and nodded his head. He took an interest in the side of his chair and Michonne knew well that he was reaching for the little pouch that hung there. It was well stocked with cigarettes—both the tobacco and the marijuana variety—that his grandson kept rolled and packed there for him. Michonne reached across him and helped him to bring the pack up to his lap. He grumbled what she knew to be the information that he didn't require her help, and she helped him anyway. She lit the cigarette that he selected with a candle that he kept burning on the small table and helped him to drop the pouch back over the side of his chair.

The next step, and Michonne knew it well, was to serve himself a small glass of the liquor that he still brewed to the best of ability in large metal tubs in one unused room of his house. He'd passed his recipes on to his grandchildren, but he still maintained his job of "recreational dispenser" to the best of his ability.

It was his job, perhaps, that had given him the will to go on after the stroke that had nearly taken his life a few years prior. The stroke hadn't robbed him of his mind exactly, but it had robbed him of most of what he thought made him valuable.

The stroke had taken away much of his physical ability. It had taken away his ability to move around freely and relatively quickly. It had taken away the deep and gravelly singing voice that they'd all come to love. It had lessened his words to barely more than a sound or two here or there for those who never took the time to learn what his words sounded like now that life had changed them.

The stroke had humbled Dick, but it hadn't taken away the fire in his eyes. And it certainly hadn't changed much about the way he lived his life. The smoking and the drinking, he knew, could shorten his life, but he'd made it clear that he'd lived long enough. He said he was probably eighty or dreadfully close to it, and he seemed prepared to go whenever that time might be upon him.

Michonne, for one, would hate to see him go.

"I thought you might like for Daryl to come and help you get down the hill," Michonne said. "Lisette's been out there for hours. They're not catching much that they aren't throwing back, but it's a nice day to fish."

Dick nodded his head. He mumbled a "might" and puffed on his cigarette. It was marijuana. Michonne could smell it. When she looked at him, he offered her the cigarette and she shook her head, waving it away. She laughed to herself when he tried to offer it to her again. She took it and took a small puff off of it to satisfy him before she gave it back.

"I've still got things to do and you're a bad influence," Michonne said.

He smiled at her and laughed deeply, the laugh rumbling in his chest loudly enough that Michonne could hear it.

"I guess you heard about what happened with Carol and that man from the Safe Haven," Michonne said. Dick nodded his head at her. He hummed his agreement. He knew everything, whether or not anyone thought he had the sense to keep up with it all anymore. "The rider's out, he might even be there by now." Another nod. "The Southern Hold isn't going to buck us. They'll offer him up for trial. Victor and Madison won't hesitate. What do you think will happen?"

Dick laughed to himself. He looked at Michonne and licked his lips.

"He'll hang," Dick said.

Michonne laughed to herself.

"He probably will hang," Michonne said. "I wasn't talking about that. I mean I know he doesn't stand much of a chance of getting through a trial like that—Carol's got enough character witnesses that he'd have to have something pretty impressive up his sleeve to convince everyone that she made up the charge. I mean—what do you think'll happen with the Safe Haven?"

She got a shake of his head and nothing more. She was sure he probably had a great deal to say—maybe he was sitting on piles of thoughts about things—but most of it was trapped inside him. It seemed to be too exhausting for him to try and get it all out. He got easily frustrated at his own speech and gave up. Other times he got too bothered over the fact that so few people could really understand him. So few people, honestly, would take the time to understand him.

But that's what Michonne and Dick did. It was what their entire relationship was built upon. She took the time to try to understand him and Dick, for his part, took the time to try to help her wherever he could—even if he thought his help was of very little value to her.

"Richard—what do you think is going to happen?" Michonne asked.

"Charles in charge?" Dick asked.

Michonne knew that he wasn't referencing old television. He was asking a question. Who was in charge of the Safe Haven in the North? The Northern territory had been a somewhat troubled zone. Since Michonne had become aware of its presence, she'd always thought of it as something of a wilderness in comparison to the Central Hold of the Highland Settlement—or even the Southern Hold. The Mountains were a little rougher than the Settlement, and the Borderlands were too, but even they seemed tamed and civilized in comparison to the Northern territory.

The North was a land that seemed to always be in uproar. There was always some sort of discontent. There was warring between two groups up there—the result of a split that had taken place many years ago when the people had decided to try to build something different without leaving the area—and there was warring even within those groups. Leadership changed often there. It changed so often that Michonne was rarely sure who was in charge. The changes, too, seemed to take place without any kind of vote. One leader would overthrow another just to be overthrown—and violence was commonly the chosen method for changing governmental roles.

The only thing that kept the Northern territory at peace with any of the Holds of the Highland Settlement was the trade agreement. They needed what the Highland Settlement produced and they had an abundance of the things that they typically brought to swap. To sweeten the deal, groups often stayed in one of the Settlements during the coldest months to get some respite from the harsh and unforgiving winters in the north. Safe travel on the Pass, too, was enough to keep them from stirring up trouble.

But it didn't mean that one leader or another wouldn't try to kick up a little dust from time to time.

Charles had been a relatively young leader that had thought, for a brief period of time, that they didn't need alliances with anyone outside of the Northern territory. He'd tried to stage some kind of attack, but it had never turned into anything. He'd made the mistake of making his intentions known and his own people had knocked him off his so-called throne to keep him from breaking the trade agreement. Still, he had stirred some people up with his speeches and Michonne had heard people staying in their settlement during the winter months declare that Charles hadn't been alone in his thoughts about the other territories.

Michonne hummed at Dick and shook her head. She helped herself to a small glass of the liquor that he brewed.

"This is sweeter than the peaches," she mused. "Charles is dead. They overthrew him a while back. One of the Sisters said they beheaded him. The last I heard, the man that they had in charge was pretty reasonable. But it's been a while since anyone's brought any political news from the North. As far as I know? They've changed leaders six times since Charles died."

"War," Dick said. "You worried?"

Michonne laughed to herself. Just like she knew he would, he went right to the root of what was bothering her. And Dick wasn't going to sugarcoat anything for her. Nowadays he didn't have the drive to put that much energy into anything and, honestly, he wouldn't have bothered with sugarcoating anything before. He was always honest about what he thought, whether or not what he had to say was pleasant, and Michonne found that she valued that about the man.

Michonne nodded her head.

"I am worried," Michonne said.

"Don't," Dick said.

"That's easy to say," Michonne said. "But if it comes to war?"

"Worry never stopped war," Dick said.

"You're right," Michonne said. "It didn't. But—most of the kids aren't old enough to really remember the fights of the past. None of them have ever fought in one. I mean—they train, but training is one thing. Fighting is another. When you're out there and you're seeing it happen? When you've got to kill someone and say goodbye to someone you love? When you're—trying to watch out for the living that are trying to kill you and the dead are reanimating. It's terrifying. And they haven't seen a lot of that."

"Spoiled," Dick said.

"Sheltered," Michonne said. "To some degree. And that's our fault, maybe. We built a world where they didn't have to worry as much, but it doesn't mean they'll never have to worry."

"Don't worry," Dick said.

Michonne laughed to herself.

"I guess we all had to start somewhere," Michonne said. "Still—I don't want to see us go to war with the Northern territory. I don't even know how many people are up there. I don't know how prepared they are. I can't even predict what the outcome of something like that would be."

"Not enough," Dick said. He shook his head at her.

"Not enough?" Michonne asked.

"Not prepared enough," Dick said. He laughed to himself. "Not enough people. Not enough. Not for us." He laughed to himself again.

Michonne sighed.

"We're all too damn old to be out there fighting hand to hand," Michonne said.

"You are," Dick said. "Not me."

It was Michonne's turn to laugh then.

"You're going to do all the fighting for us?" She teased.

"Kill 'em all," Dick said with a smile. He waved his hand—the only one that worked with any real reliability—in front of his face in a sweeping motion to sweep the area around them. "Go to hell fightin' like hell."

Michonne laughed to herself. She nodded her head. He was probably only teasing a little. She could very well see Dick being the kind to try to insist that they tie him on a horse and send him out to battle in some last grand hoorah.

And he would go, too, to fight for the settlement. Michonne had no doubt about that.

She did doubt, however, that hell was a place that Dick was destined for, even if once upon a time she might have believed it to be so. Now she liked to think that there was a much nicer place waiting for him, even if it was flowing with whiskey and clouded with smoke and not at all like the heaven that preachers had painted for them all before.

"Blaze of glory," Michonne teased. Dick nodded his head. He didn't look as happy about it as he had moments before, though. He just gazed out at the same view he'd been enjoying for most of the day and nodded his head. "Not yet," Michonne said. "Devil wouldn't like it. He can't take you in until he's ready to retire." Dick laughed to himself, but it wasn't sincere. Michonne sighed and sat back in her chair. "I hope it doesn't come to that," she said. "You or the war. I hope it doesn't come to that. We worked too hard for peace." She stood up from the chair and stretched her back. She looked down at Dick who sat, his unreliable arm drawn up near his chest, and studied over his view—it was a nice view. It was one of his favorite things in the world. From his porch, especially since they'd cleared the area around his little cabin, Dick could see much of the settlement. He stayed up there, most days, on the hill and kept watch over all of them. No matter what they were doing, they were pretty sure the old man saw it.

And even though most of them dismissed him as being feeble minded and unaware of what was happening, Michonne knew that he knew far more than most of them thought he did. He knew, it seemed, all their secrets.

But he wasn't telling any of them. He wouldn't even tell anyone that Michonne worried, even if it was just a little bit, that her children would one day have to see the kind of war that she'd prayed they'd never experience.

"What about that fishing?" Michonne asked. "You wanna go see if you and Lisette can't scare up something decent for dinner?"

Dick looked at her and nodded his head. Michonne smiled at him.

"I'll go get Daryl," Michonne said. "Thanks, Richard, for the talk."

"Get outta here. Pain in my ass," he said, struggling to get the words out and furrowing his brow at her. The fake stern look didn't hold for long, though, before it broke into a smile and he laughed to himself.

Michonne shook her head.

"I'm outta here," she said. "But I'll be back. You just don't run away while I'm gone."


	23. Chapter 22

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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"I thought you said I didn't have to even come up here," Hope said.

Isaac made a face at her that almost made her laugh. Carol used that expression any time she was holding back from saying the first thing that came to her mind because she figured someone might not appreciate her being too candid.

"I didn't ask you up here as the woman I'm courtin'," Isaac responded. "Asked you up here as Hope Dixon—someone I used to be able to count on for helping me to figure things out. Unless you're saying I can't count on you no more just because we're supposed to be courting official-like now."

Hope sighed.

"You know that ain't what I mean," Hope said. "What's the problem?"

Isaac shrugged his shoulders and surveyed the area he was clearing and marking for the house that he intended to build. He would build it carefully and he would build it well. Since Isaac was old enough to hold a hammer and was strong enough to drive a nail, he'd been working with his father. Hope knew that a good number of the structures that stood in the Central Hold were built by Isaac—partially, at least, if not entirely. At least twice a year he was also partially responsible for repairing the fences that kept them all safe from intruders of the dead and living varieties.

Isaac would build a house that he could be proud of. He wouldn't rush things. He was known for his patience. He had been as long as Hope could recall. He always believed that everything good would come to him eventually so he had very little problem waiting on it.

"Puttin' the main bedroom here," Isaac said. "Already know that. Talked to Daddy about it and it offers the things he said would be important in a room like that. A nice view of the land that way. Good view of the morning, he said, so you got something to look at when you wake up. Something that's gonna remind you of all the good outside your room." He laughed to himself. "Daddy says you need somethin' like that or you might not find the motivation to ever leave—at least until you got kids draggin' you outta the bed. But it's private too. Your room, he says, ought to be your sanctuary. Somewhere you can go to live your life and all the lives you wanna lead that'cha don't lead outside that room."

Hope swallowed and nodded.

She had a pretty good knowledge of the importance of a bedroom. They'd always been taught that their bedrooms were their special places. They went there to sleep, but that was also the place they went when they needed to cool down, when they needed to escape the noise and chaos around them, or when they simply just needed a moment to be alone with themselves. Her parents and her aunt and uncle, too, considered their bedrooms very special. All of them were welcome there, but they were supposed to request permission before entering—if they didn't, and most of them had learned this the hard way, they were liable to get an eyeful of what they didn't want to see.

Now Hope knew what it was that they'd been doing, but the first time she'd seen it after walking into her parents room unannounced, it had actually worried her. She'd been quite young and she still remembered the feeling of confusion she first felt when her parents sat her down and explained that, even though she might not be old enough to really understand for a while, they weren't going to lie to her about what happened in the lives of those who were happily married to each other. Now it was something that it seemed everyone knew about and talked about. There was no need to hide it. It was wonderful and there was nothing about it that merited trying to cover it over.

It was love—it was simply love in its most physical form.

It was something that Hope would eventually share with Isaac if she were to accept the proposal that would follow their courting—however long or short that may be. It was something, as well, that frightened her at least a little bit. She didn't dare to say that to Isaac, though, or to anyone else for that matter, for fear that they would tell her she was being simple and silly for being nervous about something that was, as far as she could tell, supposed to be one of the most wonderful parts of life when you were in love and had chosen the person you intended to commit to spending your life with.

"So you got you that," Hope said. "Seems you done made up your mind where to put the room." Isaac raised his eyebrows at her in such a way that Hope wondered if her tone had come out a little harsher than she intended. She tried to check her tone. "What else you got?"

"Please don't trample my lines, Hope," Isaac said. "Gotta put down the foundation soon and I won't be able to do that if I have to keep resetting all my lines."

Hope looked down and realized that, without even thinking about it, she was somewhat dragging her feet as she walked. She was pulling against one of the ropes that Isaac had set to mark off the space he was using and, if she kept going, she might very well tear it down and pull down the sticks, with it, that he'd used to hold the lines.

"Sorry," Hope muttered, backing up a step or two and mindfully stepping over the line. "But'cha gonna need more'n that in a house, Possum. You know that."

Isaac laughed to himself.

"Got more," he said. "What you're standin' in? See this space?" He walked over and showed her the whole of the space. "Main room. Living room. See? This here—the heart of the house. Right? Where we'll spend our time with our children. With whoever comes to call. Where we'll do the most livin' that we do in the house."

"You're being a little bold," Hope said with a smirk. "We?"

Isaac shook his head.

"If you don't want it to be you, Hope," Isaac said. But he didn't finish the statement before he switched gears a little. "I hope it's you. But if it ain't? I'm buildin' this house for my family. My wife and my children. I hope it's you—but if it ain't? There'll still be a "we" what lives in this house. I don't intend to spend my life alone in it."

Hope swallowed again and her stomach twisted. She wished she hadn't said what she'd said. She wished she knew how to take it back. But as much as her feelings over what Isaac said burned in her stomach, there was something else that burned there. Her mother would have called it Dixon pride, more than likely. Her aunt would've suggested that breakfast might not have sat right for her. Either way, whatever it was, it made her stomach churn and stopped her from taking back what she'd said.

"Living room is important," Hope said. For the time being, it was the only apology she was willing to offer. "You're gonna need a kitchen if you don't want to go hopping off to eat at the mess hall every time you get hungry."

"This over here's the kitchen," Isaac said. "Already got a stove and everything picked out of storage. Daddy's gonna help me fix the whole place up. But we're gonna do a wood stove like the one at the house. I'll keep a woodshed stocked right by the door outside. There won't be no long walks for wood in the winter. Got the bathroom over here too. Got that copper tub in storage that's already got my name on it. Building a basin in here, too. It'll be a nice bathroom that'll stay warm in the winter for baths. Bricks already set aside for the fireplaces."

"So what do you need me for?" Hope asked. "Looks to me like you already know everything you need. You know what'cha got and what you ought to have. You don't need me."

Isaac nodded his head.

"I do, though," he said. He licked his lips and observed the layout of the imaginary house around him. "See—there's always room to build. I can go out over here and back there the next time the fences move out. I can always go up. There's room to add on, but I gotta know what I'm startin' with. I got a room over here—gonna be the nursery. See? Gonna have a nice view so she can sit rockin' the little ones when it pleases her, but the mornin' sun won't come through the window and wake 'em up until she's ready. But—I don't know how much space I'ma need for the kids. How many rooms, Hope? How much space? There's a big difference between what'cha need when you got twelve kids and when you just got the one or two. I don't wanna have to add on too quick, but I also don't wanna put in too much room so it's overwhelming to her when it's empty. Like I got too many grand expectations or something."

Hope looked around the little house that Isaac was laying out for his future. Even though it made her gut twist up and made her consider parting company with the food that she'd eaten, she could see the house in her mind. She could imagine what it would be like. If Isaac built it with the care that she knew he would, it would be warm and welcoming. Morning in the little house would give anyone that comfortably dizzy feeling of easy days that could potentially last forever.

If it were her home, she could wake up there with the same warm feeling that she woke up with now—except in Isaac's arms.

And whatever she wanted? It would be given to her if it was possible.

Isaac would see to that because he believed, with every fiber of his being, that it was his job as the man of the house. His parents had taught him that and he'd learned his lesson well. If he were to be her man, then his primary job would be looking out for her well-being and happiness.

But with his commitment to her, so would come Hope's lifelong commitment to him. As his woman, she would be dedicated to helping him. To caring for him. To taking care of his needs in the same way that he took care of hers.

Together they would raise their children in that very space that she was standing in now and they would watch them grow into real people who would, with any luck, do it all again in another time that was too distant from them for Hope to even imagine at the moment.

It was, at once, a wonderful feeling and absolutely terrifying. To Hope, it could feel like something she wanted so badly she could taste it in one moment and it could cause her chest to seize up and choke off her air in the next. And she was quite certain that nobody could understand her feelings because Judith had never seemed to fear what was coming when she married Jonathan, and her parents and her aunt and uncle certainly didn't fear each other. Isaac wasn't afraid and Zeb wasn't afraid. It was only Hope, it seemed, that sometimes felt more scared of a "happy future" than almost anything else.

Isaac would wait for her, but how long could she ask him to wait?

Right now, though, he wasn't asking her to marry him. He wasn't asking her to call him her husband before the summer died and gave way to winter. Right now? He only wanted to know where to begin to set his expectations. If there were children, how many children would there be? How many was enough to expect for a start? How many were too many?

He expected Hope to know the right answer. Right or wrong, she'd give him an answer.

"You build room for three," Hope said.

"Three?" Isaac asked. Hope nodded at him.

"Three," she repeated. "You got that room. Build another room for two more to share. Over there. Give 'em some space. Room for three is good. Even if you filled the rooms quick? You'd have room for a while. It'd give you time to start working on what you wanted to add, but just one extra room don't feel like it's too much right away."

"It's prepared, but it don't feel like pressure?" Isaac asked.

Hope laughed to herself. She shook her head.

"It don't feel like pressure," she said. "At least—not too much. Maybe—just enough pressure. Shows what you're thinking, but it don't say—it's all gotta happen right away."

"Hardly nothing good happens right away," Isaac said. "Not even this house. But—the foundation, at least, it's about to start happening. Gotta start somewhere."

Hope sucked in a breath and held it. She looked around the space of the eventual house again. She looked around at what would eventually be views from windows. She glanced toward what would, one day, be a room where mornings were started and what would be a porch where evenings were spent.

"You right," Hope said. "Gotta start somewhere."


	24. Chapter 23

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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"Two riders headed this way off the pass," Jamie said. "They aren't moving too fast. Looks like their horses are tired."

Jamie was young to Michonne. He was older than Hope, though, but he was younger than Adelae. He'd been working guard rotations for the past few years, but he was still somewhat green.

And he probably wasn't prepared for Emma's response in the slightest.

"What'cha mean they headed this way from the pass?" Emma asked, her temper immediately coming through. "You didn't think it was a good idea to cut 'em off? Stop 'em?"

It wasn't Michonne's place to step in and handle things. Not really. She'd been retired from the positon of "first lady" of the Settlement since Carl had relieved Daryl of his duties as leader. But, as Carl still came to Daryl to ask for advice, Emma still heavily relied on Michonne. Michonne figured, too, that as long as her opinion was fine when Emma came searching for it, her opinion ought to be welcomed when she simply had it offer.

Emma Grimes wasn't nearly as hotheaded as her sister, but she could be quick to go from zero to a hundred in times of stress. They were lucky, though, that they hadn't seen too much to be stressed about. At least, they hadn't until now.

Michonne walked over to Emma to put a hand on her shoulder and ground the woman for a moment.

"What kind of riders, Jamie?" Michonne asked.

"It doesn't matter," Emma said. "We don't know where they might be from."

"Jamie?" Michonne asked, ignoring Emma for a moment.

Jamie shrugged.

"Woman and a man," Jamie said. "Woman's riding a paint. Man's riding a sorrel."

"How far away are they?" Michonne asked.

"They were veerin' off the pass when I left," Jamie said. "I was moving a lot faster than they were. I'd guess they aren't long behind me, though."

Michonne nodded at him.

"The proper thing for you to do, then, now that you've delivered your message is to ride back out to the gates and keep watch," Michonne said. "You'll want to be prepared in case they don't come in peace. If they want access, you'll want to pat them down. No weapons beyond the gate."

Jamie nodded at her and looked to Emma. Michonne caught Emma's eye and Emma softened a little. She looked at Jamie and nodded her head.

"Do what she says," Emma said. "Nobody comes in here with weapons. If anybody acts like they want a fight, you don't hesitate to give 'em what they want."

"Yes ma'am," Jamie declared, nodding his head again before he turned and darted off in the direction of the gates.

Michonne stood, keeping her hand on Emma's shoulder.

"He shouldn't have just let them approach," Emma said.

"What would you have had him do?" Michonne asked. "We have free passage for now. We're not at war."

"We might be soon enough," Emma said.

"But we're not now," Michonne said. "Our rider isn't even back. We don't even know if anybody is even aware that the accusation's been made."

"He shoulda handled it anyway," Emma said. "At the pass."

"And what?" Michonne asked. "Killed them for having business here? Shot some possibly innocent man and woman for passing between the communities? They're likely travelling and seeking somewhere to spend the night. There's no law against that. We offer shelter to anyone from any of our allied communities."

Emma sighed.

"I guess I'm just worried," Emma said. She shook her head at Michonne. "We haven't been to war since—I was practically a kid. Some spats and a few small battles, yeah. But not real war, Michonne. Not like this could be. Carl doesn't know how to handle it. I don't want us to let something stupid happen that costs us lives. Like somebody riding up from the pass and they take out some of our people before we even know what's happening."

"You cannot live your life in fear, Emma," Michonne said. "You can't. It won't work. It'll drive you crazy. Being careful is important. And we'll be careful. We'll all be careful. We'll do everything we can to keep war from coming to the Central Hold. But if it comes? It comes. We've learned that before. What's going to happen is going to happen. We wouldn't be the place we are if we turned away anyone who could potentially cause us harm."

"We don't want to make mistakes, Michonne," Emma said. "We don't want to cost anyone their lives. We don't want to lose people."

"Then we'll do what we can not to lose people," Michonne said. "Come on—before we decide that these people need to be dealt with, let's head out to the gates and have a look at them ourselves."

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News travelled fast in the old world, but there was something to be said for how fast it travelled these days. The horses of the Central Hold were known for being good animals. They had whatever you wanted. There were sturdy horses for the jobs that required it and fast for the ones that required that. Their horses were so sought after that a good foal could be worth almost a whole wagon worth of trade supplies.

Michonne recognized the paint as it approached. The horse had been a gift—not part of a trade.

And Michonne didn't hesitate to close the distance between herself and the gates as soon as she saw the horse. She darted right through their guard and interrupted the frisking of their new visitors by wrapping her arms around the woman and sinking into her surprised hug.

"Maddie!" Michonne said, losing her breath slightly from the hard squeeze that the woman gave her.

"Michonne!" Madison responded. "I was starting to wonder if I was going to catch you at a time when you weren't in the settlement."

Michonne laughed to herself.

"I stay put most of the time," Michonne said. "What about you? The Southern Hold will be lost without you! How long are you staying?"

"I don't know," Madison said. "At least not yet. That's—but that's a discussion to be had in private?"

Michonne glanced around her at those who were standing guard. She nodded her head.

"Of course," Michonne said. "Everyone, do you know who you're looking at?"

The fresh-faced guards looking at her wouldn't know Madison. Even if they'd known the woman, they might not remember her. It had been a number of years since she'd been at the settlement.

"This is Madison," Michonne said. "Leader and founder of the Southern Hold of the Highland Settlement. You're practically in the presence of royalty."

Madison laughed.

"Not quite royalty," Madison said. "But—some of these faces look familiar."

"You are still leading?" Michonne asked.

"For at least a little longer," Madison said. "We haven't had a clear vote for someone to take over. I hope it's because they're holding out for Victoria. But until the people decide what they want, Victor and I will stay in our places."

Madison pulled away from Michonne then and reached an arm out in Emma's direction. Emma stepped forward and gathered Madison into a hug.

"You look so good!" Madison declared through the hug.

"You do too," Emma said.

"Where's your husband?" Madison asked. "Carl?"

Emma smiled at her.

"He had to go to the Mountains," Emma said. "Just for a short trip. He'll be back by nightfall."

Madison gestured toward the young man that was standing a few feet off, originally waiting his turn to be frisked by the guards that had backed away from them now, holding the reins to the horses.

"You remember Nathaniel?" Madison asked, wagging her fingers at the young man. He stepped forward, guiding the horses.

"I do," Michonne said. She reached out an arm to hug the young man and he accepted her hug, but there was some reluctance there. He didn't know her. He didn't remember her. Not as well as she remembered him. Time was different for everyone. "The last time I saw you? You were about this tall. And you could barely keep your seat in the saddle in front of your Mama. I think—was that the last time you were here? You have to be—what? Sixteen now?"

"Close enough," Madison said. "He's a man now. All grown up."

"Married?" Michonne asked, not sure what age his parents might have chosen for his entering into courtship.

"Open to courting," Madison said. "He insisted that he be announced—last year?"

"Courting?" Michonne asked, directing her question to the young man.

Nathaniel smiled at her. He shook his head.

"Not yet, ma'am," he said. "But—I got my eye on a few lucky ladies."

Michonne laughed to herself.

"And I just heard your father's voice," Michonne said. She looked back at Madison. "Where's Victor?"

"Back home," Madison said. "He and Victoria will be coming too. But—that's really what I wanted to talk to you about. You and Emma and—anybody else, really. Is there somewhere we can go? Somewhere a little more private?"

Michonne nodded her head.

"Come on," she said. "We'll get you something to eat. Get your horses some food and water. Then we can talk."

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"When the rider got there, I really wasn't surprised," Madison said. "Xavier—he's a bit of...I don't know. He puts a bad taste in your mouth. But I kept it quiet at first. I told Victor and we talked about how to handle it. We didn't want to just blurt it out that we were bringing him back here for a trial and run the risk of him setting out in the middle of the night or something with revenge on his mind. So I started discreetly asking around. You know—just sort of gathering some information. Well, in the time that I spent asking questions, three more accusations were brought against him for attempts. It was pretty clear to me then that we needed to do something about him. I don't want him around my daughter. I don't want him around my people."

"But he's not here," Emma said. "The right thing for you to do would be to bring him here for the trial."

Madison laughed to herself. She looked at Emma, then at Michonne, and then back at Emma. The smile didn't fade entirely from her features.

"As much as I appreciate you telling me how to handle my position," Madison said, "I have my reasons for not bringing him right away. He's contained. He's no threat right now to anyone. I know how to handle threats. But what I also happen to know is that they're restless in the northern territories. It's been a bad year for them. The Snowbirds have been fighting against the Safe Haven and one of the men that came in with Xavier was saying that there was talk of another split."

"Three communities in the north?" Michonne asked.

Madison nodded her head.

"But three communities all riled up and ready to fight someone," Madison said. "Possibly together if they think it could be to their advantage. This whole thing with Xavier? You can be sure that once a rider gets there, we'll hear back from them. They'll want to come for the trial. Even if it's just an excuse to scope out the Central Hold. Victor thinks that they'll try to start something because they've got all that—that testosterone or whatever built up. He thinks they'll try to do something sly. Bring troops to attack. Try to be sneaky about it."

Michonne nodded her head.

"And you don't believe that?" Michonne asked.

"I believe there's just as much a chance that they will as they won't," Madison said. "I'd like to say they're smarter than that, but it hasn't been the most intelligent people who have been taking over any of those territories in the past decade."

"It's the ones who are willing to fight," Michonne said.

"And rape and kill and everything else," Madison said. "That's always been the trouble with the northern territories. Even back—back then, you know?"

Michonne nodded. She looked to Emma to see what Emma might say or do, but the younger woman looked a little panicked. She was certainly the least seasoned of the three of them.

"Victor is coming?" Michonne asked.

"Along with Xavier and two thirds of our troops," Madison said. "They'll be fine to camp for a bit. The Sisters in the south are mobilizing as well."

"Carl's gone to talk to the Mountain Folk," Emma said.

"You've had more dealing with the northern territories than I have," Michonne said. "How long before we know anything?"

"We sent out a rider," Madison said. "The Sisters sent the word along. I'd say—two weeks? That should be about the time that Victor arrives with everyone. It'll be about the time that he bring Xavier to start preparing for the trial."

"There's still a chance that they aren't dumb enough to try anything," Emma offered.

"Oh yeah, there's a good chance that they don't try anything," Madison said.

"But then everyone's come all this way for nothing," Emma said. "Just a trial and a hangin' of someone it sounds like won't nobody even miss."

"Everyone's come all this way to be safe," Madison said. "And—it's better safe than sorry. We'll have a feast day and they'll feel repaid for the ride. Besides, some of my people have never even seen the Central Hold."

Emma nodded at her and offered her a soft and somewhat concerned smile.

"We'll make sure they feel welcome when they come," Emma said. "And you—and your son? You are welcome here as long as you'd like to stay. Family is always welcome."

She stood up and offered a hug to Madison, making it clear that they were breaking for the moment. Madison stood and accepted the hug.

"Ositsu?" Emma asked quietly.

"Osiyo," Madison responded. "Osiyo."

"Come on," Michonne said as soon as they pulled apart. "We'll find you somewhere where you'll be comfortable. I'd offer you some room in our home, but I'm afraid you might find it a little crowded. The winter cabins are nice, though. I'm sure you'll be comfortable there."

"I remember them," Madison said. "We'll be fine there."

"You'll rest a little," Michonne said. "It was a long ride. And then we'll catch up."


	25. Chapter 24

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! (And Happy Thanksgiving to everyone who celebrates!)**

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"Nothing like seeing Eli can make me realize how long it's been since I was here last," Madison said, food suspended in mid-air on her fork. "When I was here last—Carol you were on your leave with him and he was so _new_."

Hope laughed with everyone else and Eli covered his face with his hand at the thought that he'd once been anything that could be described as "new".

Her aunt had made them a nice meal. Instead of taking their guests to the dining hall to eat with everyone, she'd prepared them their own special meal to eat at their table. Hope had helped to bring a couple of extra chairs and make room at the already crowded table for two more to eat. There was always room at the table, and Hope liked to see it when it was brimming over with people. Her favorite meals were the ones that they ate in their home. So much so, in fact, that she could usually snuggle her aunt into having at least two or three meals there a week, even if it was Hope that was sent down to the dining hall with her brothers and cousins to carry plates back and save Carol the cooking time.

But Carol had cooked all this from scratch and those were Hope's most favorite meals of all. The new and exciting company only made them that much better.

"So you haven't even met Yoka before," Tyreese said.

Madison shook her head. She glanced at the girl and offered Yoka a smile which Yoka returned.

"We've met now, of course," she said.

"Nathaniel was maybe four?" Michonne offered. "The last time you were here?"

Hope remembered the last time that Madison had been there. She remembered every time the woman had come to their community. In the early years of the Southern Hold, Madison and her family often visited the Central Hold seeking advice. Hope remembered the late nights when her parents would stay awake and talk with Madison and Victor. She remembered falling asleep to the lulling sound of conversation taking place in the living room—talk of important things that weren't the things of children.

Hope remembered Victoria and playing with the girl. Victoria would always bring treats for everyone—though probably it was her parents that brought the treats and allowed her to hand them out—whenever she came for a visit. She would sleep with Hope and Judith and they would stay awake and laugh in the bed until Caw came down to tell them that it was time to sleep and she didn't want to hear another word coming out of the room.

Hope remembered Nathaniel, too, but her memory of him was very different than the young man that he'd become. Of course, Hope recognized that she'd been quite different so many years before as well.

"Is your family complete now?" Madison asked, directing her question to Carol. Carol reached a hand out and touched Yoka's shoulder.

"We're always open," Carol said. "But with so many couples younger than us wanting children—we're willing to let them have whoever needs a home. We don't want to take away that opportunity from anyone else."

"We've expressed that we're open for..." Tyreese said, pausing a moment to search out his words. "We're open for any children who might—offer a bit of a challenge to other parents. That's been our motto since—since after Noelle came to us, I believe. We've expressed that we're open for that. If anyone needs us, we're still open for that."

"If everything goes as planned," Michonne said, somewhat interrupting and drawing the focus back to her, "you and Victor will be here for the romp this summer. You'll participate, won't you?"

Madison laughed to herself. She didn't exactly nod her head and she didn't exactly shake it. She wasn't committing one way or another immediately.

"I think we might be a bit too old for it," Madison said. "I'm not sure—I've got a lot of romping left in me."

"Nobody's ever too old for the summer romp," Daryl said with a laugh. "Hell we got people damn near twice my age participate. You old enough to court, you old enough to romp. You young enough to remember you alive? You young enough to romp."

"It's the first year we'll be doin' it," Hope interjected quickly. "On account of we just got declared for courtin' this year."

"We always do a feast and festival to welcome in the spring," Madison said. "But Victor and I haven't taken part in years. Once it was—tradition? We didn't have to participate to keep the community together. We just sort of fell out of participating. We headed everything up. Gave the speeches. But we didn't participate as much."

"Well, this year, you romp," Michonne said with a laugh. "You can make a fool of yourself with the rest of us."

"What's a romp?" Nathaniel asked.

Hope bit the inside of her mouth not to laugh at the young man's lack of knowledge about the ways of the Central Hold of the Highland Settlement. She'd never been to the Southern Hold, at least not to her knowledge, though, so she didn't know their customs. Maybe their traditions were different. She knew, for certain, that their dress was at least a little different—at least for riding—because Madison had switched out the clothing she'd been wearing at her arrival for something that showed she was a married woman only after Hope's mother had shown her to the winter cabins to leave her saddle bags for the evening.

When her uncle didn't quite stifle his laughter over Nathaniel's question about their customs, Hope turned her attention to Tyreese.

"It's a—romp," Tyreese said. "Honestly if you've never seen a romp? I don't think anyone could explain it so that it made any sense."

"It's a celebration of love," Michonne said. "Of new love and—old love, too. It's a celebration of attraction to your chosen partner and...well, it's a physical representation of the fact that...I don't know. That' you can never stop pursuing your partner."

"It's a reminder that you have to refresh things sometimes," Carol interjected quickly. "That you have to pursue your love in the beginning, but you can't stop just because you've caught them. It goes on forever."

Daryl laughed and shook his head.

"It's that. You both right. It's that. But—hell, it's more'n that. It's—a celebration of relationships and love and...damn animal sexuality. And it's some of the most fun that everybody has all year long. We fill the whole damn hillside up. And when we're done? Them that can be separated long enough to use they lips for more'n kissin' get to drinkin' and eatin' until they just about fat as ticks," he offered.

"It never caught on in the Southern Hold," Madison said with a laugh, eyeing Michonne from across the table.

"Why was that?" Michonne asked.

Madison laughed to herself.

"Mostly because—we never introduced it," Madison said.

"We give you some of our best traditions," Michonne said, "and this is how you repay us."

"You know they uncultured swine in the Southern Hold, 'Chonne," Daryl responded.

Hope laughed along with everyone else. As far as Hope knew, the Central Hold and the Southern Hold had never been at war with each other. They were sister communities. The Southern Hold was born because of the Central Hold. Her own parents had helped to establish the sister hold in the same way that they'd helped settle the Mountains. They'd helped in the same way that Carl was trying to slowly build the Western Hold just beyond the Mountains with negotiations, all of which Hope heard them talk about a great deal, with a group that was squatting there for the summer.

But that didn't mean that there weren't a great number of jokes about the differences between the communities.

"The romp, for us—for those who are just starting their courting?" Isaac offered. "The romp is mostly a time to declare courting intentions and to—to really say you're sure about who you chose, you know? It's tradition. Those that come out the romp together are usually those that are set to be married. Or—you know, those that already are married."

"You can romp too," Hope offered quickly to Nathaniel. "You been declared?"

Nathaniel nodded at her. He offered her a smile that showed her nearly every one of his teeth.

"Last year," Nathaniel said.

"Then you can romp too," Hope said.

"Can I, Mama?" Nathaniel asked.

Madison looked at him and shrugged her shoulders.

"You're a man, Nathaniel," Madison said. "Romp if you want. Don't romp if you don't want to do it. It's up to you."

"I haven't chosen anyone," Nathaniel said. "I have a lot of possible ladies that I might ask to be my wife, but I haven't chosen one that I like the best."

Some laughter erupted around the table that Hope didn't really understand. She didn't know why it was so funny. From the expression that crossed Nathaniel's face, he didn't understand it either.

"He's serious," Madison offered. "My son—he has at least four of the young ladies in our community and he's courting them one at a time in—he's almost set up a rotation."

The laughter rang out again.

"Choosin' a mate ain't no easy task," Hope said quickly, wishing to defend their guest. Even though she'd been taught that Madison and Victor were practically family, it didn't mean that they shouldn't treat their guests with all the respect due to a visitor.

"It ain't," Daryl said, coming to her rescue. "You right, Hope. It ain't no easy task to decide who you gonna spend the rest a' your life with. Not if you doin' it right. You know, though. When you love somebody? You gonna know they right. And—if you just runnin' around chasin' down girl after girl? You might as well keep runnin', 'cause you ain't settled on one you like yet."

"I like them all," Nathaniel said to Daryl.

Tyreese made a loud humming noise that drew everyone's attention.

"Are you saying that as a joke?" Tyreese asked. "Or because you mean it?"

Nathaniel looked at him like he wasn't sure he wanted to answer him. Her uncle appeared a little cross at the idea. The line between his brows was deeper than it normally was and Hope understood the expression on Nathaniel's face. She loved her uncle dearly, but when he was cross, just his expression had always been enough to break up even the worst tangle among them all.

"I mean it," Nathaniel said. "I like every one of the ladies."

Tyreese nodded his head.

"Then I would say those are words from a man who isn't ready to be married," Tyreese said, shaking his head.

"OK, but just 'cause you married don't mean you dead," Daryl said. "You can still look an' all."

"Excuse me?" Michonne interjected. She did her best to make her voice sound like she was just as cross as Tyreese had appeared, but her smile wouldn't let her get away with the show. "And just who are you looking at, Daryl Dixon?" Hope smiled to herself when she saw her father's skin run pink all the way to his ears and he somewhat ducked his head.

"This is a good damn chicken," Daryl said, harassing his food with his fork. "You done gone an' outdone yourself, Carol. You try your chicken, 'Chonne?"

"My point is that your partner—whoever they may be—is your _partner_ ," Tyreese said. "Your partner in absolutely everything. They enhance every part of your life. If you look at your future and you don't think—I'm not sure I'd have a future that I'd even want if it weren't for this person? Then you haven't chosen the right person. Don't you marry someone until you feel like—you want them for everything. You want them forever."

"I second that," Daryl said. "But I'ma add to it. I was kiddin' around about lookin'. Ain't gonna lie an' 'Chonne knows this, but it ain't that you don't never see no pretty girl again 'cause you do. Difference is? You don't care. You see 'em but you'd rather lose your right hand than lose what the hell you got 'cause it's so damn good to you. If'n you don't feel like if they was to come to you an' say—say either...either we gonna cut'cha right hand off or we gonna take her. If you don't feel like you would hear that an' you wouldn't even hesitate to put'cha hand right up there to say—take it, 'cause she's gonna be my right hand, but can't nothin' or nobody replace her?" Daryl stopped and shook his head at Nathaniel. "And I ain't sayin' it just to him," Daryl said, pointing at Isaac and dragging his finger around the table to cover everyone who was peeking at him with half an eye on their plates. "I ain't sayin' it just to him. But if you don't feel that way? She ain't the one for you an' you damn well better just sit down an' wait it out 'til she gets there."

"That's all fine and romantic," Madison said, "but—I think other things need to be considered too." The smile she'd been wearing earlier had faded and Hope could practically feel the fact that the one she was wearing now was one that she was forcing a bit more. "I'm not throwing anybody under the bus—even if I could. I'm just going to use myself. But—sometimes it's the egg that comes before the chicken and sometimes it's the chicken that comes before the egg. Not everybody's love was born before their relationship. Sometimes the relationship is—it's a choice. The partnership? It comes first, but it's a choice. Sometimes the love is like—a special surprise you get out of that choice."

"Love comes in different shapes and sizes," Michonne offered. "And everybody finds it their own way and in their own time."

"Thank you," Madison said. Michonne nodded at her. "However, I agree that it's best not to get married until you're—until you're sure that you feel something very strong for the person, even if it's not quite as strong as what it will become with care and with...well, with care. With nurturing."

"And on that note," Carol said, "finish your dinner. Circle will be starting soon and—Isaac? I'm sure that Nathaniel would enjoy going to circle. You'll take him with you?"

"You'll all go to circle," Michonne said. "We've got some things to discuss. Everyone goes to circle tonight."

"Even Yoka?" Eli asked quickly.

"Even Yoka," Tyreese said. "But—I want someone to hold her hand? Don't leave your sister up there and you get back before it's too dark."

"What's circle?" Nathaniel asked.

"Singing and dancing," Daryl said. "Happens damn near every night and it's one of the best ways you ever spent digestin' your food. So go ahead an' finish eatin' what you gonna digest."


	26. Chapter 25

**AN: Hello everyone!**

 **Sorry that real life took me away from writing for a bit, but I'm back now. I hope the new year is treating you well.**

 **I've posted a visual guide to this "world" on my Tumblr because I didn't know how to post it elsewhere. You can find me on there under the handle spanishrose2002. You can look through my page for the terribly done hand-drawn map. My art skills are horrible, and it's not drawn to scale, but it might help those of you who would like a visual.**

 **Here's the image address for the map, but you can search for it there if the address doesn't work:**

 **https colon backslash backslash 78 dot media dot tumblr dot com /9cd9e2bec5641676d5ceff049d88a557/tumblr_p277x4nkHk1rkpjtjo1_ 1280 (no space between the slash and numbers) dot jpg**

 **You'll need to take out the stuff in parenthesis and replace the dots and slashes with symbols to write it as a proper address, but this site won't let me do that for you.**

 **I hope that you enjoy the chapter! Let me know what you think!**

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By the time they had all eaten, cleaned up the dishes as was expected of them, and made their way to circle, everything was in full swing.

The fires were burning and people were already dancing, laughing, and talking loudly enough that it was a surprise that anyone could hear anybody else that didn't practically have their ear pressed against their lips.

Hope kept a close eye on Yoka since the girl was too young to be wandering around at the circle alone. She had only seen ten winters in the world. In addition to her age, Yoka didn't speak much and could be difficult to find if she got lost in the crowd. She managed a few simple words and some sounds that they'd all learned to associate with one thing or another, but Yoka didn't speak like many of the children her age did. She seemed to understand them all well enough, but she'd never mastered forming the words for herself.

Instead of speaking with words, Yoka communicated with hand signals and gestures. It was one of the special languages of the Central Hold and Hope spoke it almost as well as she spoke the words to any of the other languages that ever touched her tongue. Yoka's favorite form of communication, though, was simply smiling. It said everything she seemed to need to say—she was happy. Everyone and everything could make Yoka happy.

Her name was Ahiyoka. Yoka. It was a simple name that had been given to her shortly after she'd been delivered into the arms of her heart-mother because the woman who had delivered her to the world didn't feel like her mother. That's how it had been explained to Hope. Carol had sought out the perfect name for her from suggestions given within the community and Hope thought that maybe she'd found it.

 _The one who brought happiness._

Yoka was quiet, but in her quiet way she made everyone pretty happy—and everyone made Yoka happy.

Dancing, too, made Yoka very happy.

Hope held to her cousin's hands and did her best to match the strange gyrations that Yoka seemed to think went along with the music that played. She swung the girl in one direction and another, her own excitement over the dance fueled by the giggling fits that erupted from Yoka as they quickly changed directions and she was sent jerking in one direction or another.

Hope lost track of everyone else for some time and it wasn't until they announced they were taking a break from playing, to have some water and catch their breaths, that Hope stopped dancing to try to catch her breath along with everyone else and locate the rest of her family.

It was Nathaniel that she found first as she wandered through the crowd holding tight to the little girl's hand.

"Do you like circle?" Hope asked, continuing to scan the faces around her in search of everyone else.

Nathaniel shrugged his shoulders.

"If you're in the mood to dance to some pretty bad music," Nathaniel offered in response.

Hope frowned at him.

"I like the music," Hope said. "Some nights we have picking. Some nights—well, we've got a drum circle. Some nights just about anybody that wants to gets up here to sing or...you know...to show whatever they been learnin' to play. I like it just fine."

"Then it's fine for you," Nathaniel offered.

"I suppose you've got somethin' better?" Hope asked. "At the Southern Hold?"

"We have better music," Nathaniel said. "Our festivals are bigger. We have festivals four times a year to welcome in the changing seasons."

"Circle ain't no change of the season festival," Hope said. "We got those. Circle's just—well, it's just for digestin' your food. Singing because somebody wants to sing. Dancing because you want that too. This ain't no festival. It's just circle. You ain't seen nothin' until you've seen one of our festivals."

Nathaniel laughed to himself.

"In the Southern Hold they tell stories about the Central Hold," Nathaniel said. "About how—you don't wear any kind of modest dress here. How you're all marked up. Your skin. Some people say that the people of the Central Hold are...well they're just about wild as far as people go."

Hope narrowed her eyes at him.

"And what you think about stories like that?" Hope asked.

"I've never seen my mother's breasts exposed at the dinner table until tonight," Nathaniel offered. "At least not that I recall. But I couldn't help but notice—you bind yours."

"I ain't married," Hope said. "It's only proper your Mama dress like she's married if she is. Otherwise—there's courtin' going on right now. Somebody might get some idea if she weren't to dress like she should."

"So you'll bare your breasts too?" Nathaniel asked. "Mark your skin up?"

Hope licked her lips.

"When it's the right time," Hope said. "I'll take my marks as I see fit and I'll dress like I'm married when I'm good and married."

Nathaniel laughed to himself. There was something strange within Hope that almost made her want to raise her hand and slap the expression off of his face even as he wore it. Something else within her, though, wanted to know more about the Southern Hold. She wanted to know more about where it was that this young man was from that made him think that he could make such a face over their way of life.

"When will that be, Hope?" Nathaniel asked. "Are you promised?"

Hope swallowed.

"I'm courting," Hope said. "Official. Possum and me. Isaac. We're courting."

"But you aren't set to be married?" Nathaniel asked.

"Not until the time comes," Hope said. "Not until I decide I'm ready. Until then, we're courting."

"Just him?" Nathaniel asked.

"That's what courting is," Hope offered.

"Not where I'm from," Nathaniel said. He shook his head. "Not us. Where I'm from? I'm courting four different ladies right now, Hope. All four of them—they're just waiting to see who I choose. And I might not choose any of them. Not if I don't think that one of them's right for me. I might be the leader of the Southern Hold someday. I can't have just anybody as my wife. Not everybody's born to lead."

"Anybody can lead," Hope said. "It ain't the leader that matters half as much as his people do."

Nathaniel changed his stance.

"What makes you say that?" Nathaniel asked.

"A leader without his people is just someone all alone," Hope said. "Spittin' wishes in the wind. That's what my Daddy says and it's true."

Nathaniel laughed sincerely and Hope couldn't help but catch the laughter. His expression and his stance changed.

"I guess you've got a point," Nathaniel said. "You've never been to the Southern Hold?"

Hope shook her head.

"Not exactly," she said.

"How could you not exactly be there?" Nathaniel asked.

"They tell me that parts of the Southern Hold extend to the land where I was born," Hope said. "The land where I lived before we moved here. Before the Central Hold came to be. Before there was even a Southern Hold there. I don't remember living there. I don't remember the trip here. But they tell me I was born there."

"I could sense that," Nathaniel said.

Hope rolled her eyes at him.

"You couldn't. You're a lie with skin," Hope said.

"Some people would call me other things," Nathaniel said. "They say the prettiest women come from the Southern Hold. Maybe it just seemed fitting it would be your home."

Hope swallowed. She felt her face grow warm and she couldn't exactly blame it on the fires. They were a fair distance away because she didn't like to let Yoka, who was still clinging to her hand and watching everything around her with interest, get too close to the fires.

"I'm—I'm gonna take Yoka over there. Look for Cheyenne. See if she can keep Yoka a while. You oughta dance some. They'll start the music back soon," Hope said.

Nathaniel gestured toward Yoka.

"What's wrong with her?" He asked.

Hope jumped and quickly checked her cousin over. Yoka laughed at her inspection and touched her fingers to Hope's face before she planted a quick kiss on her cheek.

"Scared me to death!" Hope declared to Nathaniel. "Nothing's wrong with her. She ain't hurt."

"I meant—what's wrong with her?" Nathaniel asked. "She's not—what's wrong with her?"

Hope shook her head at him.

"Nothing," she repeated, wondering if he might have some difficulty following along with her words now that some of the noise around them was growing a little louder.

"She doesn't talk," Nathaniel offered.

"Some people don't," Hope offered.

"It means there's something wrong with them," Nathaniel said to her, almost like he was trying to teach her a lesson that she hadn't learned in life yet.

"What it means is they don't talk," Hope said. "Some people could do good talkin' a lot less."

"Have I offended you, Hope?" Nathaniel asked. "Because—I assure you that wasn't my intention. As your guest, the last thing I wanted to do was to offend my hostess. Especially not you."

Hope swallowed.

She wasn't sure if she felt offended or not. She sighed and shook her head.

"You're a visitor," Hope said. "And you didn't offend me. But—there's nothin' wrong with Yoka neither."

Nathaniel nodded his head.

"I can see that now," he said. "Do you want me to help you find—whoever you're looking for?"

"Cheyenne," Hope said. "And you don't gotta help me find her. I know where she is. At least—I know just about where she oughta be. Listen to the music. Dance. Have a good time. We'll head on back to the house just after it gets dark enough for all the stars to be out."

Hope took her leave of Nathaniel by simply starting to walk off into the crowd, tugging Yoka along with her. She stopped when she felt him catch her arm and pull back on her wrist to get her attention. She turned around to see what it was that he might want and he smiled at her.

This time it wasn' the same type of smile that he'd worn before. It wasn't the type of smile that she almost felt inclined to remove from his face for him.

"If I see you, after you've found your cousin, could I ask you to dance?" Nathaniel asked.

Hope felt her face run warm again. She laughed to herself.

"You could ask," she said. "But I ain't gonna say how I'll answer."

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"We've seen enough trouble with the Northern Territories that we're ready to fight if that's what it comes down to," Madison said. "We can bring our people. I've already spoken with the Sisters. They'll bring their people. As many as they can spare."

"He's such a piece of shit an' you got more'n enough witnesses to testify to it," Daryl said. "Just don't seem like one piece of shit like that ought to stir up so much trouble. Why the hell should they care so much if we're just gettin' rid of some asshole like that? Doin' them a damn favor."

"They do things differently in the north," Michonne said with a sigh. "They always have."

"Wrong is wrong," Daryl said. "I don't care what you eat or how you bless your harvest. That shit's left up to every land to decide for themselves. But wrong is wrong an' he dragged his sorry ass down our safe pass to try an' bring that shit down here."

"It's not about Xavier," Madison said. "And if they come? It won't be about Xavier then. The Snowbirds have been trying to make a clean break from the Safe Haven for a while now. The other group—they don't even know what they're calling themselves yet. They've formed their own little army. They're trying to break away too."

"So let 'em go," Daryl said. "I don't see what the Safe Haven would want with a buncha people that don't want to be part of 'em. It ain't never made sense to me."

"If they break away, that's fewer trade goods for them," Madison said. "More competition when they come this way to trade. It means fewer people there. They lose some important people, maybe. Doctors and Healers are hard to come by and a lot of the children don't go into the profession."

"They'd rather have 'em there an' unhappy than spread out," Daryl said.

"That's always been how they've functioned," Tyreese said. "There's no reason to think they'd change now."

"If the Snowbirds are able to fully break from the Safe Haven, the small group may go with them to form one larger group," Madison said. "The Safe Haven believes that if that were to happen, we'd choose trading with the Snowbirds over trading with them."

"Because we always have in the past," Carol said. "Every time they've tried to break away before. We've always preferred dealing with the Snowbirds because they're fairer. They make better deals."

"And they live better among us when they come for the winters," Daryl said. "But Xavier is travellin' with the rest of 'em that was supposed to be Snowbirds anyway."

"And they don't mind handing him over," Madison said. "He's travelling with them, but he's not one of them. Not in ideology at least."

Michonne sucked in a breath and held it.

"So the Safe Haven wants to fight all of them—and then they want to fight us?" Michonne asked. "It doesn't make sense. It's a suicide mission."

"If they lose," Madison said. "If they win, they take over the Central Hold and they hold the largest amount of land. Not to mention that they become the hub of the trades that take place."

"But they gotta know they can't win that shit," Daryl said.

"Or they've got something up their sleeves," Madison said.

"Nothing to lose," Tyreese said. He shook his head when they all looked at him for clarification. "I'm just being honest. If they lose more than half their people to a new group up there—plus the people that they'll lose fighting while they try to hold onto those people? They're down to a small group. Relatively speaking, of course. They lose trades with everyone else and they lose a lot of friends. Maybe they figure that they've got nothing to lose and everything to gain if they can somehow manage to come down here and overthrow us."

"What's that going to do to you?" Michonne asked Madison. "We've kept the peace we've had with the Safe Haven for the trade, but the primary reason we've avoided problems with them before is because of your daughter. Alicia. What's that do to you if we go to war with the north?"

"We don't go to war with the north," Madison said. "We go to war with the Safe Haven. Most of what I know is coming to me through Alicia. She sent letters with one of the women who's staying with us. I have to believe that if they're able to make a clean break, Alicia's not going to stay at the Safe Haven."

"And if she don't break with the Safe Haven?" Daryl asked.

Madison dropped her eyes to the table.

"If the Safe Haven moves on the Central Hold," Madison said, "then the Southern Hold will fight in solidarity with the Central Hold—just the same as we've always done. Just the same as we've always promised. That's all there is to it."


	27. Chapter 26

**AN: Here we are, another chapter. I'm sorry, real life has really been a beast lately.**

 **I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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"You know, Nathaniel says things are different in the Southern Hold," Hope said. She used her foot to push the floor of the porch and moved the swing to rock. Isaac sat next to her, relaxed, with his arm loosely hung around her shoulder. Everybody else had gone to bed, but they wouldn't stay in bed. Hope knew that her aunt would be up soon, wandering around the house like she seemed to spend most of her nights after Tyreese had gone to sleep. When she realized that they hadn't gone to bed yet, she'd flicker the lights to tell them that they had to come inside.

She'd give them a little time, though, just to sit on the swing and enjoy the quietest hours of the Central Hold.

"I suppose it is different," Isaac said. "They don't have the same kind of winters there that we have here for one. I hear they don't even get the deep-freeze like we get. You could probably grow some kind of crops year-'round without even needing greenhouses. I bet it changes everything. The preparation for winter wouldn't have to be near as dramatic if you weren't preparing for the very real possibility that everybody's going to freeze to death."

Hope laughed. She pulled Isaac's hand over and kissed the fleshy part of it, just beneath his thumb. His skin scratched a little at her lips. Isaac worked hard, and he worked all the time. That was what was expected of him. He lived up to everyone's expectations—and then some.

"Why you gotta be so practical, Possum?" Hope asked. "I wasn't even talking about weather. I was talking about a different way of life. They do a lotta things different there, you know. That's what Nathaniel said. They even court different."

"I know you're going somewhere important with this," Isaac said. "And I know you'll get there when you want, but just know that I know you're headed there. I don't know much about courting anywhere but here—but I think our courtin' system is nice. You got ideas about how you'd rather it be?"

"Nathaniel's courtin' four women at once, Possum," Hope said. "All at the same time. Four different ones."

Isaac laughed to himself.

"So you said, Hope. Twice." He didn't seem impressed. He somewhat shrugged. "Sounds to me like somebody who can't make up his mind. Like he don't know what he wants and he's just bumpin' around and hopin' that he falls over it. Besides—he hardly seems grown enough to be courtin' any of them serious-like. That's prob'ly why he's entertaining so many."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Hope asked.

Isaac laughed.

"Well—I mean—what's he seen? Let's say fifteen winters? He's younger'n Jonathan. He might be courtin', but I doubt they full grown women. Prob'ly girls themselves. Don't know what they want."

"You don't know that," Hope said.

"That boy's nothin' but that...a boy," Isaac said.

"And you ain't but a couple more years older'n him," Hope offered.

"Maybe the years are different in the Central Hold," Isaac responded, "like everything else. He looks like he ain't never even got his hands dirty."

"He's going to lead the Southern Hold one day," Hope said. "He says that's why he's got to court so many. He says not every woman's fit to be the wife of a leader."

Isaac laughed.

"I suppose that could be true," he offered. "After all, some women don't really seem fit to be the wife of anyone. But—I mean—we all gotta find the wife that fits us. The partner that fits us. Whoever it might be. If he's set on bein' a leader, and it's gonna take a special kind of woman, then he's got to find her. That's true enough. Still—it don't make sense to me to be courtin' four at once. Seems to me that you'd pick one, court her, and then just pick another—I mean if the two of you don't seem to think that you'd make a good fit. I don't think there'd ever be the need for some foolishness like courtin' four at once. Just pick the one that you think is right and get married."

"You ever think about leadin' this place?" Hope asked.

Isaac shrugged.

"I guess I could," Isaac said. "But I'd be just as content to be some kinda secondhand leader. Something like my daddy. Besides—you know as well as I do that a leader don't mean as much as the people that he's got behind him. He can be a leader all day long, but if his people don't follow him—he's just walkin' alone. He can't go on like that. It's only natural that Nathaniel's going to lead the Southern Hold, though."

"Why do you say that?" Hope asked.

"His parents are the leaders," Isaac said. "They've been holding a spot for him as long as they can. You heard his mama talking. They're tryin' to hold it until he's ready to take it. Maybe they're even pushin' him to take it early. Same as it is here—the idea's been that Zeb would take over when Carl was ready to step down. Or—I guess you could if you wanted. The only reason that Carl even stepped into that spot was because you were too young to take over when your daddy was ready to step down. What Nathaniel's doing isn't about ambition, it's about traditions. If his parents weren't who they are, then he wouldn't be where he is. There probably wouldn't be four girls willing to court him all at once if he didn't have the parents he's got."

"Would you ever wanna date four girls at once?" Hope asked.

Isaac laughed to himself. He patted Hope's arm.

"One's plenty enough for me," Isaac assured her. "I sometimes think you're complicated enough, Hope, that you could cover bein' four different girls. What's with the questions, though? You want to be courted along with three other girls?"

"No," Hope said.

"You just wanting to be courted by somebody who's courtin' three or four other girls?" Isaac asked.

"Not that either," Hope said. She was sure she meant it as soon as the words escaped her lips.

Isaac hummed at her.

"Am I missing something then?" Isaac asked. "Are you looking to be the wife of the leader of the Southern Hold? You got that ambition all of a sudden? Because it never did bother you before that I was content to let you or Zeb take the role of leader here and not to fight for it. For me to just be an advisor. But if you're not content with that no more..."

"I think it's fine," Hope said. "But—I've never really been too far. I've never seen the Southern Hold."

"You're the same as me," Isaac said. "They say we were both born there, though. Daddy says we left while I was still wet behind the ears. He said I was barely borned by the time we left, but I was born there just the same. Don't you remember it? You were older than me."

Hope hummed.

"I know I should remember it, but I don't," she said. She sighed and rooted deeper under Isaac's arm. "Maybe I can remember something. I'm not sure. Like I think I remember things, but I don't know if what I'm really seein' is what's in my mind or if it's what Caw and Mama told me about it. I think I can see faces too, sometimes, but then I'm not sure if they're just faces from the pictures we got." She turned her head to rub her face against Isaac and he patted her arm. "I want to remember it, but I don't think I can."

"Well," Isaac said, "if you ever wanna go—you just tell me."

"You'd go to the Southern Hold?" Hope asked.

"For the winter," Isaac offered. "We can't stay much longer'n that. Not with all the responsibilities we got here. And I wouldn't want to leave Mama and Daddy all that long. I'm sure you wouldn't want to leave your parents. But we can go for a little while. See the land between here and the Southern Hold. If that's what you wanna do, Hope."

Hope wasn't sure that she really had a desire to see the Southern Hold, but she did like the fact that Isaac offered to take her if she wanted to go.

"Would you wanna go?" Hope asked.

"I'd go anywhere you wanted me to," Isaac said. "Here or there—it's all the same to me."

"As long as we were comin' back home," Hope said.

"Home's my favorite place to be," Isaac said. "Used to be yours too. You change your mind on that?"

Hope thought about it a moment.

"No," she admitted. "I would miss everybody too much. I wouldn't wanna be gone too long from Mama and Daddy and Caw and Ty."

Isaac squeezed her.

"Then you just stay right here where you're happy," he said. "You don't gotta go nowhere. And that house I'm building—I don't know if you noticed, Hope, but it's right within walkin' distance of all the people an' things you love. I could prob'ly even talk Mama into comin' and makin' us breakfast sometime so you can wake up to it like you like."

Hope smiled to herself. She hummed at him and rubbed her face against him again. He never seemed to mind her rubbing against him to steal the comfort that he had to offer. Instead, he simply squeezed her to remind her that he was there—just enjoying the porch with her.

"What if I wanted to be leader of this place?" Hope asked. "Instead of Zeb? Or—what if I wanted to share it with him?"

"What about it?" Isaac asked.

"What would you say to that?" Hope asked.

"I'd say it was a fine thing," Isaac said. "As long as it was what you wanted."

"Would you feel intimidated?" Hope asked. "Bein' the husband of the leader of the Central Hold?"

Isaac laughed to himself.

"I think I'd feel proud more than anything, Hope," he said. "But—I'd appreciate it if it didn't mean that you was set on courtin' three or four other men. Besides that—I don't think I'd mind it at all."

"That's not how we do courtin' here in the Central Hold," Hope offered.

"And I'm thankful for little things," Isaac said with a laugh.

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Michonne sat on the bed while her daughter watched her. She raised her eyebrows at Hope finally.

"You know I love spending time with you," Michonne said. "But the list of chores we've both got to do is a mile long. So if we're just going to spend this time being quiet together, could we spend it being quiet together while we got a few things done? I don't want to leave your Caw to feel like she has to pick up the slack for both of us." 

"Is that your way of pushing me to talk to Mama? Using my Caw against me?" Hope asked, raising her eyebrow at Michonne.

Michonne laughed.

"It's my way of saying you've either got to talk or we've got to move on," Michonne said.

"Caw says Ty is comfortable," Hope said.

Michonne laughed to herself.

"Well I try not to pry too much, but I do know a little about your aunt's life. I guess it's safe to say that they're comfortable together."

"Is comfortable a good thing?" Hope asked.

"I think that depends on the person," Michonne said. "For your Caw, comfortable is a real good thing. For your Uncle Ty, comfortable is just what he wanted. It's the best either of them could ask for. It's what they wanted from each other."

"And you and Daddy?" Hope asked.

"We're comfortable," Michonne said. She smiled to herself. "That's always been one of the best things about your daddy. No matter what's going on, he always manages to make this world just a little bit more comfortable."

"Are you always happy with him?" Hope asked. "Or do you ever wished you'da picked somebody else?"

"I can honestly say that I never wanted to pick someone else," Michonne said. "Not since I met your father."

"And Caw?" Hope asked.

"She wouldn't trade your Uncle Ty for the world," Michonne said.

"What about them?" Hope asked. "Daddy and Ty. They didn't never just—decide that they wanted someone else? Or even mention it?"

Michonne raised her eyebrows at Hope.

"Your daddy never has," Michonne said. "Not to my knowledge, at least."

"Ty?" Hope asked.

"He would never hurt your Caw like that," Michonne said. "But there was a time when she was scared he would. He didn't, though. Why do you ask, Hope? Do you know about something going on?"

Hope shook her head.

"It's not like that, Mama," Hope assured her. "It's just—Nathaniel's been sayin' that in the Southern Hold they court a whole buncha different people 'cause you don't never know and it could be that'cha think you love somebody—but then you don't love 'em when you realize that you love somebody else more. He says the way we do things around here is ridiculous and rigid and that if we were more open minded we wouldn't have half the problems we got."

Michonne laughed to herself.

"He's so damned worldly for a kid whose voice still squeaks sometimes," Michonne said.

In her opinion, Madison was welcome to stay as long as she wanted. Victor, too, when he got there. She valued both of them as long-time friends and allies. The only problem was that their son was more than a bit arrogant and pretty convinced—perhaps like a good number of teenaged boys—that he had the world figured out better than anyone who had ever walked it before.

Carol had already mentioned wanting to wring his neck three times since she'd finished her coffee just that morning.

Now it seemed that he was spreading his bullshit around to the kids.

"Listen—Hope—exactly what problems does Nathaniel think we have?" Michonne asked.

"The problem with that man that hurt Caw," Hope offered.

"Courting a thousand different people wouldn't have taken that problem away," Michonne said. "That problem was a man who wanted to know if he could intimidate and dominate someone that he saw as weaker than himself. Listen—that boy is arrogant. Now—he comes by it honestly. I care for Victor Strand a great deal, but he's a little arrogant. I imagine he's even more so when he's in the place where he's a leader. There's nothing wrong with the way that we do things. There's nothing wrong with choosing someone to love for life and keeping that promise. And Nathaniel knows that too. They can't do things too differently in the Southern Hold because Victor and Madison have been together since before you were born—I'm sure of that. I don't know what he's playing at, but he's filling your head full of stories, Hope. Besides—do you want to court other people?"

"I don't think so," Hope said.

Michonne laughed to herself. She was struck by her daughter's momentary indecision. Something bristled inside of her.

"Well then you better decide what you think," Michonne said. "Because—Hope I love you with all my heart...but I won't support you playing with Isaac's emotions. I'll support you doing whatever you feel you need to do, but not if it involves playing with him. You commit to him or you let him off the hook. Just remember, though, that there are a dozen young ladies out there that wouldn't hesitate to try to help him soothe over some hurt feelings. And most of them wouldn't hesitate a day and a half to accept his marriage proposal. If you turn him loose, you might not catch him again. You need to think about how that would make you feel while you were running around trying to decide if you maybe wanted something different."

"I didn't mean it that way, Mama. And I didn't mean to make you mad. It's just—Nathaniel says sometimes you change your mind," Hope said. "Weren't you never scared you might change your mind?"

Michonne thought about it and shook her head. She sighed.

"You didn't make me mad. And...no," she said. "Because—I decided that I wasn't going to change my mind. I was with someone who changed their mind before, and it's an awful feeling. I just knew that wasn't going to be me. I made my decision. I stood by it." She sighed. "And maybe that's what makes me upset when I think about you toying with Isaac."

"Mama—I'm not toying with nobody," Hope said.

"Be sure that you're not, Hope. I know that, when you're young, things can happen. When you're old, too, honestly. Just—be careful."

Hope nodded.

"And Hope?" Michonne said.

"What?" Hope asked.

"I had someone who decided they wanted someone else. Back before your father. I can promise you that comfortable—some people might tell you it's boring, but it's one of the best feelings that you'll ever find. Comfortable might not seem exciting when you're young, but it's a really nice place to sleep when you're old."


	28. Chapter 27

**AN: Did anybody miss me?**

 **I'm sorry I've been gone so long. Things have been busy.**

 **I hope some of you are still interested. I hope you enjoy the chapter! Let me know what you think!**

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"Just stop worryin' things to death," Daryl said. "There ain't no firin' squad out here. Stop actin' like it's the first damn time I ever took you on a walk in your whole life."

"It ain't the first time, Daddy," Hope said, "but I know good enough to know that there's a walk an' then there's a walk. I know which kinda walk this is. So if it's all the same to you—I'd rather we didn't go too far just for you to get around to whatever you brought me out here to say."

Daryl sighed.

He hadn't planned, exactly, where he'd intended to take Hope. Maybe he'd take her to the woods to check some traps. Maybe he'd walk with her to the pass to see if everything was clear or if they might expect visitors. He might take her to see Beau or walk with her the long way to the highway where they could see what they hoped would eventually become the Western Hold if those currently settled there wanted to be allies.

But no matter where he took her, he'd just be coming up with somewhere to take her. Hope knew that. And a field was as good of a place to talk as any other out-of-the-way spot.

"You wanna sit or you wanna stand?" Daryl asked. He immediately answered himself instead of leaving it up to her. "I'm gettin' too old to stand all day long, but I'm too damn old to sit with my legs crossed on the ground. Let's go over there."

He pointed to one of the wooded patches. They were going neither here nor there, but he assumed it was just where they ought to end up. Hope kept step with him pretty well. She walked quietly beside him, her long fingers dropping down to catch the ends of tall grass and pull them loose as she went.

She reminded him so much of Michonne that it took his breath away when he watched her sometimes. It wasn't so much that she looked like her mother—though they did strongly favor—as much as it was how she carried herself. Hope held her body the way that Michonne did—like she'd been some kind of queen in a past life and her muscles somehow retained that memory.

Even on the few occasions when he'd had to really punish her—almost always causing himself a great deal more suffering in the process—she'd never cowered away from anything.

Today she wasn't cowering, but she was frowning deeply because she worried over what they would talk about when they'd found a proper fallen trunk to use for a seat.

It didn't take long for them to find something suitable, and Daryl lit a cigarette as soon as he sat, pulling it from the small leather pouch he carried, along with the metal lighter filled with the linseed oil concoction that they had created when fuel had become too hard to come by. He drew on the cigarette and spit out a loose piece of the tobacco.

"Do you know why I wanted to walk with you, Hope?" Daryl asked.

Hope shrugged her shoulders.

"I don't know," she said.

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Is that 'cause you done so much shit you done forgot it all?" Daryl asked. "Or 'cause you genuinely don't know."

Hope laughed to herself.

"I didn't do nothin' bad that I can remember," Hope said, "but—that also depends on what kinda mood Mama or Caw mighta been in when I done somethin' that weren't that bad."

"It ain't about nothin' you done," Daryl assured her. "At least—I don't know about nothin' you done that I need to talk to you about, but if you think you know of somethin', then I'ma expect you to give yourself a talkin' to."

"What is it?" Hope asked after she giggled at Daryl's suggestion that she talk to herself about her possible bad behavior.

"What I come out here to talk to you about was—it was about courtin'." Hope rolled her eyes and growled. Daryl laughed to himself. "You heard a thing or two about it, I guess?"

"I know what I ought not to do with Possum, Daddy," Hope said. "I know how we get babies an' I heard how they get out. I even heard that—the gettin' 'em? It ain't all as good as sometimes some people like Mama an' Caw might make it sound like it is."

Daryl raised his eyebrows at her.

"You know all that, do you?" He asked.

"I don't wanna talk about it no more, Daddy," Hope said. "I'm not doin' nothin' like that with Possum. And Uncle Ty's done run him up an' down makin' sure he knows that he oughta not suggest nothin' like that. But he ain't, Daddy. Honest we ain't done nothin' but kiss an'—an' hold hands a little."

Daryl swallowed down his amusement at his daughter's frustration and her willingness to spill all the information that came to her mind about her relationship with Isaac.

"You just kissed, huh?" Daryl asked. "Held hands a little?"

Hope nodded her head and Daryl had to bite the inside of his mouth and clear his throat to keep from laughing. He nodded his understanding.

"Well—then I guess that's alright," Daryl said. "At least until you—get married. Ya know? But—that's what I really wanted to talk to you about, Hope. The marryin' part of things."

"I didn't say yes yet," Hope said.

"I know you ain't," Daryl said. "You gonna say yes?"

Hope stared at him. He knew her well enough to know that, when she stared at someone a certain way, she wasn't going to answer them for anything in the world. There was nothing they could do to get her to come out with it. They practically couldn't pry it out of her.

Daryl hummed at her.

"I reckon that's just about what I wanted to talk to you about," Daryl said. "Your Mama says you mighta been makin' eyes at Nathaniel."

"I ain't done nothin' with him, neither," Hope said.

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Didn't say you did. Said—you mighta been makin' eyes at him. Maybe you was thinkin' about it. He's not from here, after all. You ain't seen him damn near every day of your life like you seen Possum. Seems like he might be a little more exciting than Possum."

"He's seen more," Hope said.

"If by more you mean more of the grass between here an' the Southern Hold, he's seen more," Daryl said.

"You don't like him," Hope said.

"Ain't about him, really," Daryl said.

"You want me to marry Possum?" Hope asked.

"I want you to do what the hell is gonna make you happy, Hope," Daryl said. "Forever is a long damn time if you lucky, but it's a really long time if you miserable."

"I don't wanna be miserable, Daddy," Hope said.

"I understand that," Daryl said.

"Feels like—if I run too fast, I might just fall into somethin' that ain't what it looks like," Hope said.

Daryl laughed.

"I understand that, too, Hope," Daryl said. "Listen—I weren't no boy when I met your Ma. My knees were already startin' to creak and I was goin' gray. I was bitter and pissed off at the world. There weren't no woman for me before your Ma. I understand hesitatin' and waitin' and not bein' sure."

"But you're not sorry you waited," Hope said.

"No," Daryl said. "But I was sorry that I was so old when I found her. I was sorry that all that time got wasted. I woulda loved all them years more with your Ma if I coulda met her when I was young an' had the sense to love her from back then. What we've had? What we got left? Hope—there ain't no damn way it's gonna be enough. It won't never be enough time. No matter if I live to be older'n Dick, I ain't never gonna be ready to give her up an' I ain't never gonna be ready to leave her."

Hope frowned at him. She shook her head. He laughed to himself again and nodded. Hope hated discussing mortality more than anything. She understood it, of course, and she knew it was a reality, but she liked very much to believe that the four people under which she'd grown would simply go on living forever. She could tolerate discussing anyone else's mortality—even her own—but she would almost bolt from the room if any of them so much as thought of talking about death.

"That ain't my point," Daryl said. "I started—I wanted to go one way an' I went the other."

"What is your point, Daddy?" Hope asked. There was no malice behind the words. There wasn't a trace of sass. She was sincerely asking him to simply try again to get where he'd originally wanted to go.

"When I look at your Ma—I think that there ain't a woman more beautiful on the face of the Earth," Daryl said. "I don't even believe they was a woman more beautiful before the old world ended an' this one come to be. She's the smartest, funniest, most beautiful—smartest..."

"You said smartest," Hope offered.

"Kindest, did I say that one?" Daryl asked. Hope shook her head. "My point is—there ain't no woman in the world like your Ma, Hope. There weren't never one before an' there won't never be one again that's quite like her." Hope smiled. She loved love. She always had. And she loved to hear people that she loved talking about how much they loved her and the other people that she thought they should love. Sometimes she would simply sit and ask them to tell her how much they loved one another as though declarations of love made stories as interesting as fairytales. "You a lot like her, Hope, I don't mean to say you ain't."

"But I'm not Mama," Hope supplied. Daryl nodded.

"But you ain't her," he agreed. "And your Uncle Ty? He'd tell you that—there ain't no woman in this whole world like your Caw. Ain't never been an' there ain't never gonna be again. He'd tell you that can't nobody compare to her in no way, shape, or form."

"Except Mama," Hope offered. She was wearing the content smile she got when she was hearing something that pleased her.

"To hear him tell it, not even your Ma," Daryl said. "Point is—I know how perfect your Ma is. So I treat her like how she oughta be treated, ya know? Like a goddess, Hope. 'Cause that's what she is. Somethin' as close to bein' divine as there is. And your Uncle Ty? He'd tell you he worships at your Caw's feet when she lets him."

"That's what you're supposed to do with your woman," Hope offered.

Daryl hummed and nodded his head. He and Tyreese both had put a great deal of effort into modeling for their children—the best way they knew how—how a woman ought to expect to be treated by her man. Daryl could never forget how his old man treated his mother. He couldn't stand to think of it happening to someone else. And Tyreese lived, every day of his life, loving desperately a woman who would forever wear the physical, and some of the emotional, scars left on her by a man who had mistaken her for someone to beat and degrade.

They didn't want that for their children.

"It is," Daryl said. "I've always wanted you to know that, Hope. I've always wanted you to know that you was damn near divine an' you ain't had time for no damn body what didn't know it."

Hope smiled and nodded her head.

"I know, Daddy," she confirmed.

"Maybe what I forgot to tell you, though, was how damn important the work of them goddesses is, Hope."

"I know they work hard," Hope said. "Mama and Caw. I know they do."

"The work you don't see, Hope," Daryl said. She cocked an eyebrow at him and he nodded his head. "Yeah—yeah—most the work they do is work that'cha don't see. It's work that don't nobody see. You ask anybody around here who built the Highland Settlement. Who got it goin' an' turned it into what the hell we got now?"

"You did," Hope said. "With all the help from everybody that you knew you could count on."

Daryl nodded his head.

"But what the hell they wouldn't tell you is that—I wouldn'ta been able to do a damn thing without your Ma. An' who the hell built damn near everything you see here? Barns an' houses an' wagons an' storage silos—who built it with his blood an' sweat an' tears?"

Hope smiled.

"Ty," she said.

"But he wouldn'ta driven hardly a single damn nail if it weren't for your Caw," Daryl said. Hope shook her head and furrowed her brow. "You don't understand, but I'ma tell you. I ain't always believed in myself, Hope. Hell—half the time I don't believe in me now. But your Ma? She believes in me like—like I hung the fuckin' moon in the sky with these two fingers right here. She believes there ain't nothin' that I can't do. There ain't nothin' that I can't handle. She believes I'm the strongest man and—and the sweetest man. Like I'm the man that every other man in the world oughta wish he could grow up to be."

"You're a good man, Daddy," Hope said.

"I am," Daryl said. "But a lot of it? It come from your Ma. Was her makin' me that way. Still makin' me that way every day. Same with your Caw. Every day with Ty. You ain't just a good man, Ty, she tells him, but you the best man, Ty. You so strong an' so handsome an' so wonderful that—the whole world they just lookin' at you 'cause they can't even believe your ass is real. You the real cock of the walk, Ty. Everybody knows it. She's sayin' all that. Just the same as your Ma."

"But you can't both be the best," Hope said.

"That's the point," Daryl said. "If it come down to it? Hell—I doubt either one of us is really worth all that much. But we built what we built 'cause they made us believe we was. They built us as much as we built this place. Same as—I know that there might be someone could argue there was some woman better'n your Ma. Or someone might say—like you said about us—that your Ma an' your Caw can't both be the best woman. But that ain't the point, Hope. And it is the point, all at the same damn time."

"But it don't make sense," Hope said with a confused laugh.

"We used to say beauty was in the eye of the beholder," Daryl said. "What we meant to say was—you love what'cha really love to the point that—you see the imperfections, but you choose to let 'em go until they just fade away. Your Ma is my goddess. Your Caw? She's your Ty's goddess. But that's 'cause they treated us like damn near gods an' we'd rather die than let 'em down. I think I done a good job teachin' you what it is that'cha oughta expect from the man what decided to love you for the rest of your life. But—I think I mighta failed you, Hope, in teachin' you what the hell you gotta do to deserve it. You deserve the best. An' you deserve to be loved an' cared for by whatever man you marry. There ain't no negotiating that he oughta respect you an' never, never put his hands on you. But—to really be his goddess? You gotta love him, Hope. You gotta build him up. You gotta—see him for all that he don't even see himself for, an' you gotta make him everythin' that he would sit an' tell you that he can't never be. If you wanna be his goddess, Hope? You gotta make him feel like a god. Because he deserves that. And if you ain't ready to do that for someone, or you don't think you can? Then you ain't ready to be his goddess."

Hope stared at him, but it wasn't the hard stare from before. She was thinking now, and he gave her a moment of time and space to think while he lit another of the cigarettes.

"You understand what I'm tryin' to say to you?" Daryl asked when he thought she'd had a little time to think about the things he'd said.

"I think so," Hope said.

"The romp's comin' up," Daryl said. Hope nodded. "It's a time for declarin' intentions, Hope. For renewin' old ones an' for makin' new ones." Hope nodded again. "Do me a favor?"

"What is it, Daddy?" Hope asked.

"Let Possum know before the romp if—if you ain't wantin' him to catch you," Daryl said. "And—if you're wantin' him to catch you? Make sure that's what you want 'fore you tell him to do it. If you gonna be his woman, Hope, it's your job to build him up. Not to start tearin' him down 'fore you even get started good."

Hope nodded.

"I understand," she said.


End file.
